ACONFEDERATE 
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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/confederategirlsdaws 


SARAH    FOWLER    MORGAN 


A  CONFEDERATE  GIRL'S 
DIARY 

BY 

Sarah   Morgan   Dawson 


WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    BY 

WARRINGTON    DAWSON 
AND    WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
l9*3 


COPYRIGHT,    I913,    BY  WARRINGTON   DAWSON 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  September  iqi% 


To 
Those  Who  Endured  and  Forgave 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Sarah  Fowler  Morgan Frontispiece 

From  a  daguerreotype  in  the  possession  of  the  family. 

Miriam  Morgan 64 

From  a  daguerreotype  in  the  possession  of  the  family. 

James  Morris  Morgan 114 

From  a  daguerreotype  in  the  possession  of  the  family. 

Facsimile  of  a  Page  of  the  Diary 150 

Sarah  Fowler 192 

Sully's  portrait  of  Mrs.  Morgan. 

LlNWOOD 236 

Built  by  General  A.  G.  Carter  in  1848,  now  the  home  of 
his  grandson,  Howell  Morgan.  This  was  a  Spanish  grant 
and  has  always  remained  in  the  family. 

The    ante-bellum    Home   of    Judge    Thomas    Gibbes 

Morgan 3°8 

On  Church  Street,  Baton  Rouge,  La.,  now  the  property  of 
St.  Joseph  Academy,  and  used  as  an  annex. 

Judge  Thomas  Gibbes  Morgan 346 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  perhaps  due  to  a  chance  conversation,  held  some 
seventeen  years  ago  in  New  York,  that  this  Diary  of 
the  Civil  War  was  saved  from  destruction. 

A  Philadelphian  had  been  talking  with  my  mother 
of  North  and  South,  and  had  alluded  to  the  engage- 
ment between  the  Essex  and  the  Arkansas,  on  the 
Mississippi,  as  a  brilliant  victory  for  the  Federal 
navy.  My  mother  protested,  at  once;  said  that  she 
and  her  sister  Miriam,  and  several  friends,  had  been 
witnesses,  from  the  levee,  to  the  fact  that  the  Con- 
federates had  fired  and  abandoned  their  own  ship 
when  the  machinery  broke  down,  after  two  shots 
had  been  exchanged:  the  Federals,  cautiously  turn- 
ing the  point,  had  then  captured  but  a  smoking  hulk. 
The  Philadelphian  gravely  corrected  her ;  history,  it 
appeared,  had  consecrated,  on  the  strength  of  an 
official  report,  the  version  more  agreeable  to  North- 
ern pride. 

"But  I  wrote  a  description  of  the  whole,  just  a 
few  hours  after  it  occurred!"  my  mother  insisted. 
"Early  in  the  war  I  began  to  keep  a  diary,  and 
continued  until  the  very  end ;  I  had  to  find  some  vent 
for  my  feelings,  and  I  would  not  make  an  exhibition 
of  myself  by  talking,  as  so  many  women  did.  I  have 
written  while  resting  to  recover  breath  in  the  midst 
of  a  stampede;  I  have  even  written  with  shells 

ix 


Introduction 

bursting  over  the  house  in  which  I  sat,  ready  to  flee 
but  waiting  for  my  mother  and  sisters  to  finish  their 
preparations." 

"If  that  record  still  existed,  it  would  be  invalu- 
able," said  the  Philadelphian.  "We  Northerners  are 
sincerely  anxious  to  know  what  Southern  women 
did  and  thought  at  that  time,  but  the  difficulty  is  to 
find  authentic  contemporaneous  evidence.  All  that 
I,  for  one,  have  seen,  has  been  marred  by  improve- 
ment in  the  light  of  subsequent  events." 

"You  may  read  my  evidence  as  it  was  written 
from  March  1862  until  April  1865,"  my  mother 
declared  impulsively. 

At  our  home  in  Charleston,  on  her  return,  she 
unstitched  with  trembling  hands  a  linen-bound 
parcel  always  kept  in  her  tall,  cedar-lined  wardrobe 
of  curled  walnut.  On  it  was  scratched  in  ink  "To  be 
burned  unread  after  my  death";  it  contained,  she 
had  once  told  me,  a  record  of  no  interest  save  to  her 
who  had  written  it  and  lacked  the  courage  to  re-read 
it;  a  narrative  of  days  she  had  lived,  of  joys  she  had 
lost;  of  griefs  accepted,  of  vain  hopes  cherished. 

From  the  linen,  as  the  stitches  were  cut,  fell  five 
blank  books  of  different  sizes.  Two,  of  convenient 
dimensions,  might  have  been  intended  for  diaries; 
the  other  three,  somewhat  unwieldy,  were  partly 
used  ledgers  from  Judge  P.  H.  Morgan's  office. 
They  were  closely  written  in  a  clear,  firm  hand ;  the 
ink,  of  poor  quality,  had  faded  in  many  places  to  a 
pale  brown  scarcely  darker  than  the  deep  yellow  to 


Introduction 

which  time  had  burned  the  paper.  The  effort  to 
read  under  such  conditions,  and  the  tears  shed  over 
the  scenes  evoked,  might  well  have  cost  my  mother 
her  sight;  but  she  toiled  for  many  weeks,  copying 
out  the  essential  portions  of  the  voluminous  record 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Northerner  who  really  wished 
to  know. 

Her  transcription  finished,  she  sent  it  to  Phila- 
delphia. It  was  in  due  course  returned,  with  cold 
regrets  that  the  temptation  to  rearrange  it  had  not 
been  resisted.  No  Southerner  at  that  time  could 
possibly  have  had  opinions  so  just  or  foresight  so 
clear  as  those  here  attributed  to  a  young  girl.  Ex- 
planation was  not  asked,  nor  justification  allowed: 
the  case,  tried  by  one  party  alone,  with  evidence 
seen  from  one  standpoint  alone,  had  been  judged 
without  appeal. 

Keenly  wounded  and  profoundly  discouraged,  my 
mother  returned  the  diaries  to  their  linen  envelope, 
and  never  saw  them  again.  But  my  curiosity  had 
been  roused  by  these  incidents;  in  the  night, 
thoughts  of  the  records  would  haunt  me,  bringing 
ever  the  ante-bellum  scent  of  the  cedar-lined  ward- 
robe. I  pleaded  for  the  preservation  of  the  volumes, 
and  succeeded  at  last  when,  beneath  the  injunction 
that  they  should  be  burned,  my  mother  wrote  a  deed 
of  gift  to  me  with  permission  to  make  such  use  of 
them  as  I  might  think  fitting. 

Reading  those  pages  for  myself,  of  late,  as  I 
transcribed  them  in  my  turn,  I  confess  to  having 


Introduction 

blamed  the  Philadelphia!!  but  lightly  for  his 
skepticism. 

Here  was  a  girl  who,  by  her  own  admission,  had 
known  but  ten  months'  schooling  in  her  life,  and  had 
educated  herself  at  home  because  of  her  yearning  for 
knowledge;  and  yet  she  wrote  in  a  style  so  pure, 
with  a  command  of  English  so  thorough,  that  rare 
are  the  pages  where  she  had  to  stop  for  the  alteration 
of  so  much  as  one  word.  The  very  haste  of  noting 
what  had  just  occurred,  before  more  should  come, 
had  disturbed  the  pure  line  of  very  few  among  these 
flowing  sentences.  There  are  certain  uses  of  words 
to  which  the  twentieth  century  purist  will  take  ex- 
ception; but  if  he  is  familiar  with  Victorian  liter- 
ature he  will  know  that  these  points  have  been 
solved  within  the  last  few  decades  —  and  not  all 
solved  to  the  satisfaction  of  everyone,  even  now. 

But  underlying  this  remarkable  feat  of  style,  are 
a  fairness  of  treatment  and  a  balance  of  judgment 
incredible  at  such  a  period  and  in  an  author  so 
young.  On  such  a  day,  we  may  note  an  entry  de- 
nouncing the  Federals  before  their  arrival  at  Baton 
Rouge;  another  page,  and  we  see  that  the  Federal 
officers  are  courteous  and  considerate,  we  hear 
regrets  that  denunciations  should  have  been  dic- 
tated by  prejudice.  Does  Farragut  bombard  a 
town  occupied  by  women  and  children,  or  does 
Butler  threaten  to  arm  negroes  against  them?  Be 
sure,  then,  that  this  Southern  girl  will  not  spare 
adjectives  to  condemn   them!    But  do  Southern 

xii 


Introduction 

women  exaggerate  in  applying  to  all  Federals  the 
opprobrium  deserved  by  some?  Then  those  women 
will  be  criticized  for  forgetting  the  reserve  imposed 
upon  ladies.  This  girl  knew  then  what  history  has 
since  established,  and  what  enlightened  men  and 
women  on  both  sides  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line 
have  since  acknowledged:  that  in  addition  to  the 
gentlemen  in  the  Federal  ranks  who  always  be- 
haved as  gentlemen  should,  there  were  others,  both 
officers  and  privates,  who  had  donned  the  Federal 
uniform  because  of  the  opportunity  for  rapine 
which  offered,  and  who  were  as  unworthy  of  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  as  they  would  have  been  of  the 
Stars  and  Bars. 

I  can  understand,  therefore,  that  this  record 
should  meet  with  skepticism  at  the  hands  of  theor- 
ists committed  to  an  opinion,  or  of  skimmers  who 
read  guessing  the  end  of  a  sentence  before  they 
reach  the  middle.  But  the  originals  exist  to-day, 
and  have  been  seen  by^others  than  myself;  and  I 
pledge  myself  here  to  the  assertion  that  I  have 
taken  no  liberties,  have  made  no  alterations,  but 
have  strictly  adhered  to  my  task  of  transcription, 
merely  omitting  here  and  there  passages  which  deal 
with  matters  too  personal  to  merit  the  interest  of  the 
public. 

Those  who  read  seriously,  and  with  unbiased 
mind,  will  need  no  external  guarantees  of  authentic- 
ity, however;  for  the  style  is  of  that  spontaneous 
quality  which  no  imitation  could  attain,  and  which 

xiii 


Introduction 

attempted  improvement  could  only  mar.  The  very 
construction  of  the  whole  —  for  it  does  appear  as  a 
whole  —  is  influenced  by  the  circumstances  which 
made  the  life  of  that  tragic  period. 

The  author  begins  with  an  airy  appeal  to  Madame 
Idleness  —  in  order  to  forget.  Then,  the  war  seemed 
a  sacred  duty,  an  heroic  endeavor,  an  inevitable 
trial,  according  as  Southerners  chose  to  take  it;  but 
the  prevailing  opinion  was  that  the  solution  would 
come  in  victory  for  Southern  arms,  whether  by  their 
own  unaided  might  or  with  the  support  of  English  in- 
tervention. The  seat  of  war  was  far  removed,  and  but 
for  the  absence  of  dear  ones  at  the  front  and  anxi- 
ety about  them,  Southern  women  would  have  been 
little  disturbed  in  their  routine  of  household  duties. 
But  presently  the  roar  of  cannon  draws  near,  actual 
danger  is  experienced  in  some  cases,  suffering  and 
privation  must  be  accepted  in  all.  Thenceforth,  the 
women  are  part  of  the  war ;  there  may  be  interludes 
of  plantation  life  momentarily  secure  from  bullets 
and  from  oppression,  yet  the  cloud  is  felt  hanging 
ever  lower  and  blacker.  Gradually,  the  writer's  gay 
spirit  fails;  an  injury  to  her  spine,  for  which  ade- 
quate medical  care  cannot  be  found  in  the  Confed- 
eracy, and  the  condition  of  her  mother,  all  but 
starving  at  Clinton,  drive  these  Southern  women  to 
the  protection  of  a  Union  relative  in  New  Orleans. 
The  hated  Eagle  Oath  must  be  taken,  the  beloved 
Confederacy  must  be  renounced  at  least  in  words. 
Entries  in  the  Diary  become  briefer  and  briefer,  yet 

xiv 


Introduction 

are  sustained  unto  the  bitter  end,  when  the  deaths 
of  two  brothers,  and  the  crash  of  the  Lost  Cause,  are 
told  with  the  tragic  reserve  of  a  broken  heart. 

I  have  alluded  to  passages  omitted  because  too 
personal.  That  the  clearness  of  the  narrative  may 
not  suffer,  I  hope  to  be  pardoned  for  explaining 
briefly,  here,  the  position  of  Sarah  Morgan's  family 
at  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War. 

Her  father,  Judge  Thomas  Gibbes  Morgan,  had 
been  Collector  of  the  Port  of  New  Orleans,  and  in 
1 86 1  was  Judge  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Parish 
of  Baton  Rouge.  In  complete  sympathy  with 
Southern  rights,  he  disapproved  of  Secession  as  a 
movement  fomented  by  hotheads  on  both  sides, 
but  he  declared  for  it  when  his  State  so  decided. 
He  died  at  his  home  in  Baton  Rouge  in  November, 
1861,  before  the  arrival  of  Farragut's  fleet. 

Judge  Thomas  Gibbes  Morgan's  eldest  son, 
Philip  Hickey  Morgan,  was  also  a  Judge,  of  the 
Second  District  Court  of  the  Parish  of  Orleans. 
Judge  P.  H.  Morgan  (alluded  to  as  "Brother"  and 
his  wife  as  "Sister"  throughout  the  Diary)  disap- 
proved of  Secession  like  his  father,  but  did  not  stand 
by  his  State.  He  declared  himself  for  the  Union,  and 
remained  in  New  Orleans  when  the  Federals  took 
possession,  but  refused  to  bear  arms  against  his 
brothers  and  friends.  His  position  enabled  him  to 
render  signal  services  to  many  Confederate  prisoners 
suffering  under  Butler's  rule.   And  it  was  a  conversa- 

xv 


Intr<5duction 

tion  of  his  with  President  Hayes,  when  he  told  the 
full,  unprejudiced  truth  about  the  Dual  Govern- 
ment and  the  popular  sentiment  of  Louisiana,  which 
put  an  end  to  Reconstruction  there  by  the  Washing- 
ton Government's  recognition  of  General  Francis  T. 
Nicholls,  elected  Governor  by  the  people,  instead  of 
Packard,  declared  Governor  by  the  Republican 
Returning  Board  of  the  State.  Judge  P.  H.  Morgan 
had  proved  his  disinterestedness  in  his  report  to  the 
President ;  for  the  new  Democratic  r6gime  meant  his 
own  resignation  from  tthe  post  of  Associate  Justice 
of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Louisiana  which  he  held 
under  the  Republicans.  He  applied  then  to  himself  a 
piece  of  advice  which  he  later  was  to  give  a  young 
relative  mentioned  in  the  pages  of  this  Diary: 
"Always  remember  that  it  is  best  to  be  in  accord 
with  the  sentiments  of  the  vast  majority  of  the 
people  in  your  State.  They  are  more  apt  to  be  right, 
on  public  questions  of  the  day,  than  the  individual 
citizen." 

If  Judge  Thomas  Gibbes  Morgan's  eldest  son 
stayed  within  the  Union  lines  because  he  would  not 
sanction  Secession,  his  eldest  daughter  —  Lavinia  — 
was  on  the  Federal  side  also,  married  to  Colonel 
Richard  Coulter  Drum,  then  stationed  in  California, 
and  destined  to  become,  in  days  of  peace,  Adjutant- 
General  under  President  Cleveland's  first  adminis- 
tration. Though  spared  the  necessity  of  fighting 
against  his  wife's  brothers,  Colonel  Drum  was 
largely  instrumental  in  checking  the  Secession  move- 

xvi 


Introduction 

merit   in   California   which   would   probably   have 
assured  the  success  of  the  South. 

In  the  early  days  of  Secession  agitation,  another 
son  of  Judge  T.  G.  Morgan,  Henry,  had  died  in  a 
duel  over  a  futile  quarrel  which  busybodies  had 
envenomed.  The  three  remaining  sons  had  gone  off 
to  the  war.  Thomas  Gibbes  Morgan,  Jr.,  married 
to  Lydia,  daughter  of  General  A.  G.  Carter  and  a 
cousin  of  Mrs.  Jefferson  Davis,  was  Captain  in  the 
Seventh  Louisiana  Regiment,  serving  under  Stone- 
wall Jackson;  George  Mather  Morgan,  unmarried, 
was  a  Captain  in  the  First  Louisiana,  also  with 
Jackson  in  Virginia.  The  youngest,  James  Morris 
Morgan,  had  resigned  from  Annapolis,  where  he  was  a 
cadet,  and  hurried  back  to  enlist  in  the  Confederate 
navy. 

At  the  family  home  in  Baton  Rouge,  only  women 
and  children  remained.  There  was  Judge  Morgan's 
widow,  Sarah  Fowler  Morgan;  a  married  daughter, 
Eliza  or  "Lilly,"  with  her  five  children;  and  two 
unmarried  daughters,  Miriam  and  Sarah.  "Lilly's" 
husband,  J.  Charles  La  Noue,  came  and  went; 
unable  to  abandon  his  large  family  without  protector 
or  resources,  he  had  not  joined  the  regular  army,  but 
took  a  part  in  battles  near  whatever  place  of  refuge 
he  had  found  for  those  dependent  on  him.  We  note, 
for  instance,  that  he  helped  in  the  Confederate  attack 
on  Baton  Rouge,  together  with  General  Carter, 
whose  age  had  prevented  him  from  taking  regular 
service. 

xvii 


Introduction 

A  word  more  as  to  the  author  of  this  Diary,  and 
I  have  finished. 

The  war  over,  Sarah  Morgan  knitted  together  the 
threads  of  her  torn  life  and  faced  her  present,  in 
preparation  for  whatever  the  future  might  hold.  In 
South  Carolina,  under  Reconstruction,  she  met  a 
young  Englishman,  Captain  Francis  Warrington 
Dawson,  who  had  left  his  home  in  London  to  fight 
for  a  cause  where  his  chivalrous  nature  saw  right 
threatened  by  might.  In  the  Confederate  navy 
under  Commodore  Pegram,  in  the  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia  under  Longstreet,  at  the  close  of  the  war 
he  was  Chief  Ordnance  officer  to  General  Fitzhugh 
Lee.  But  although  the  force  of  arms,  of  men,  of 
money,  of  mechanical  resources,  of  international 
support,  had  decided  against  the  Confederacy,  he 
refused  to  acknowledge  permanent  defeat  for 
Southern  ideals,  and  so  cast  his  lot  with  those  beside 
whom  he  had  fought.  His  ambition  was  to  help  his 
adopted  country  in  reconquering  through  jour- 
nalism and  sound  politics  that  which  seemed  lost 
through  war.  What  he  accomplished  in  South 
Carolina  is  a  matter  of  public  record  to-day.  The 
part  played  in  this  work  by  Sarah  Morgan  as  his 
wife  is  known  to  all  who  approached  them  during 
their  fifteen  years  of  a  married  life  across  which  no 
shadow  ever  fell. 

Sarah  Morgan  Dawson  was  destined  to  outlive 
not  only  her  husband,  but  all  save  three  of  her  eight 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  most  of  the  relatives  and 


Introduction 

friends  mentioned  in  the  pages  which  follow;  was 
destined  to  endure  deep  affliction  once  more,  and  to 
renounce  a  second  home  dearer  than  that  first  whose 
wreck  she  recorded  during  the  war.  Yet  never  did 
her  faith,  her  courage,  her  steadfastness  fail  her, 
never  did  the  light  of  an  almost  childlike  trust  in 
God  and  in  mankind  fade  from  her  clear  blue  eyes. 
The  Sarah  Morgan  who,  as  a  girl,  could  stifle  her 
sobs  as  she  forced  herself  to  laugh  or  to  sing,  was  the 
mother  I  knew  in  later  years. 

I  love  most  to  remember  her  in  the  broad  tree- 
shaded  avenues  of  Versailles  where,  dreaming  of  a 
distant  tragic  past,  she  found  ever  new  strength  to 
meet  the  present.  Death  claimed  her  not  far  from 
there,  in  Paris,  at  a  moment  when  her  daughter  in 
America,  her  son  in  Africa,  were  powerless  to  reach 
her.  But  souls  like  unto  hers  leave  their  mark  in 
passing  through  the  world ;  and,  though  in  a  foreign 
land,  separated  from  all  who  had  been  dear  to  her, 
she  received  from  two  friends  such  devotion  as  few 
women  deserve  in  life,  and  such  as  few  other  women 
are  capable  of  giving. 

She  had  done  more  than  live  and  love :  —  she  had 
endured  while  endurance  was  demanded;  and, 
released  from  the  house  of  bondage,  she  had,  without 
trace  of  bitterness  in  her  heart,  forgiven  those  who 
had  caused  her  martyrdom. 

Warrington  Dawson. 

Versailles,  France, 
July,  1913. 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

BOOK  I 

Baton  Rouge,  Louisiana, 
March  9th,  1862. 

Here  I  am,  at  your  service,  Madame  Idleness, 
waiting  for  any  suggestion  it  may  please  you  to  put 
in  my  weary  brain,  as  a  means  to  pass  this  dull, 
cloudy  Sunday  afternoon;  for  the  great  Pike  clock 
over  the  way  has  this  instant  struck  only  half-past 
three ;  and  if  a  rain  is  added  to  the  high  wind  that  has 
been  blowing  ever  since  the  month  commenced,  and 
prevents  my  going  to  Mrs.  Brunot's  before  dark,  I 
fear  I  shall  fall  a  victim  to  "the  blues"  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life.  Indeed  it  is  dull.  Miriam  went  to 
Linewood  with  Lydia  yesterday,  and  I  miss  them 
beyond  all  expression.  Miriam  is  so  funny!  She  says 
she  cannot  live  without  me,  and  yet  she  can  go  away, 
and  stay  for  months  without  missing  me  in  the 
slightest  degree.  Extremely  funny !  And  I  —  well, 
it  is  absurd  to  fancy  myself  alive  without  Miriam. 
She  would  rather  not  visit  with  me,  and  yet,  be  it 
for  an  hour  or  a  month,  I  never  halfway  enjoy  my- 
self without  her,  away  from  home.  Miriam  is  my 
"Rock  ahead"  in  life;  I'll  founder  on  her  yet.  It's 
a  grand  sight  for  people  out  of  reach,  who  will  not 
come  in  contact  with  the  breakers,  but  it  is  quite 

I 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

another  thing  to  me,  perpetually  dancing  on  those 
sharp  points  in  my  little  cockleshell  that  forms  so 
ludicrous  a  contrast  to  the  grand  scene  around.  I  am 
sure  to  founder! 

I  hold  that  every  family  has  at  heart  one  genius, 
in  some  line,  no  matter  what  —  except  in  our  family, 
where  each  is  a  genius,  in  his  own  way.  Hem !  And 
Miriam  has  a  genius  for  the  piano.  Now  I  never 
could  bear  to  compete  with  any  one,  knowing  that 
it  is  the  law  of  my  being  to  be  inferior  to  others,  con- 
sequently to  fail,  and  failure  is  so  humiliating  to  me. 
So  it  is,  that  people  may  force  me  to  abandon  any 
pursuit  by  competing  with  me;  for  knowing  that 
failure  is  inevitable,  rather  than  fight  against  des- 
tiny I  give  up  de  bonne  grdce.  Originally,  I  was  said 
to  have  a  talent  for  the  piano,  as  well  as  Miriam. 
Sister  and  Miss  Isabella  said  I  would  make  a  better 
musician  than  she,  having  more  patience  and  per- 
severance. However,  I  took  hardly  six  months'  les- 
sons to  her  ever  so  many  years ;  heard  how  well  she 
played,  got  disgusted  with  myself,  and  gave  up  the 
piano  at  fourteen,  with  spasmodic  fits  of  playing 
every  year  or  so.  At  sixteen,  Harry  gave  me  a  guitar. 
Here  was  a  new  field  where  I  would  have  no  compet- 
itors. I  knew  no  one  who  played  on  it;  so  I  set  to 
work,  and  taught  myself  to  manage  it,  mother  only 
teaching  me  how  to  tune  it.  But  Miriam  took  a  fancy 
to  it,  and  I  taught  her  all  I  knew;  but  as  she  gained, 
I  lost  my  relish,  and  if  she  had  not  soon  abandoned 
it,  I  would  know  nothing  of  it  now.    She  does  not 

2 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

know  half  that  I  do  about  it;  they  tell  me  I  play 
much  better  than  she ;  yet  they  let  her  play  on  it  in 
company  before  me,  and  I  cannot  pretend  to  play 
after.  Why  is  it?  It  is  not  vanity,  or  I  would  play, 
confident  of  excelling  her.  It  is  not  jealousy,  for  I 
love  to  see  her  show  her  talents.  It  is  not  selfishness; 
I  love  her  too  much  to  be  selfish  to  her.  What  is  it 
then?  "Simply  lack  of  self-esteem"  I  would  say  if 
there  was  no  phrenologist  near  to  correct  me,  and 
point  out  that  well-developed  hump  at  the  extreme 
southern  and  heavenward  portion  of  my  Morgan 
head.  Self-esteem  or  not,  Mr.  Phrenologist,  the 
result  is,  that  Miriam  is  by  far  the  best  performer  in 
Baton  Rouge,  and  I  would  rank  forty-third  even  in 
the  delectable  village  of  Jackson. 

And  yet  I  must  have  some  ear  for  music.  To 
"know  as  many  songs  as  Sarah "  is  a  family  proverb ; 
not  very  difficult  songs,  or  very  beautiful  ones,  to 
be  sure,  besides  being  very  indifferently  sung;  but 
the  tunes  will  run  in  my  head,  and  it  must  take  some 
ear  to  catch  them.  People  say  to  me,  "Of  course  you 
play?"  to  which  I  invariably  respond,  "Oh,  no,  but 
Miriam  plays  beautifully!"  "You  sing,  I  believe?" 
"Not  at  all  —  except  for  father"  (that  is  what  I 
used  to  say)  —  "and  the  children.  But  Miriam 
sings."  "You  are  fond  of  dancing?"  "Very;  but  I 
cannot  dance  as  well  as  Miriam."  "Of  course,  you 
are  fond  of  society?"  "No,  indeed!  Miriam  is,  and 
she  goes  to  all  the  parties  and  returns  all  the  visits 
for  me."  The  consequence  is,  that  if  the  person  who 

3 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

questions  is  a  stranger,  he  goes  off  satisfied  that 
"that  Miriam  must  be  a  great  girl;  but  that  little 
sister  of  hers  — !  Well!  a  prig,  to  say  the  least!" 

So  it  is  Miriam  catches  all  my  fish  —  and  so  it  is, 
too,  that  it  is  not  raining,  and  I  'm  off. 

April  7th. 

Until  that  dreary  1861,  I  had  no  idea  of  sorrow  or 
grief.  .  .  .  How  I  love  to  think  of  myself  at  that  time ! 
Not  as  myself,  but  as  some  happy,  careless  child 
who  danced  through  life,  loving  God's  whole  world 
too  much  to  love  any  particular  one,  outside  of  her 
own  family.  She  was  more  childish  then  —  yet  I  like 
her  for  all  her  folly;  I  can  say  it  now,  for  she  is  as 
dead  as  though  she  was  lying  underground. 

Now  do  not  imagine  that  Sarah  has  become  an 
aged  lady  in  the  fifteen  months  that  have  elapsed 
since,  for  it  is  no  such  thing;  her  heart  does  ache 
occasionally,  but  that  is  a  secret  between  her  and  this 
little  rosewood  furnished  room;  and  when  she  gets 
over  it,  there  is  no  one  more  fond  of  making  wheel- 
barrows of  the  children,  or  of  catching  Charlie  or 
mother  by  the  foot  and  making  them  play  lame 
chicken.  .  .  .  Now  all  this  done  by  a  young  lady 
who  remembers  eighteen  months  ago  with  so  much 
regret  that  she  has  lost  so  much  of  her  high  spirits 
—  might  argue  that  her  spirits  were  before  tremen- 
dous; and  yet  they  were  not.  That  other  Sarah  was 
ladylike,  I  am  sure,  in  her  wildest  moments,  but 
there  is  something  hurried  and  boisterous  in  this 

4 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

one's  tricks  that  reminds  me  of  some  one  who  is 
making  a  merit  of  being  jolly  under  depressing  cir- 
cumstances. No!  that  is  not  a  nice  Sarah  now,  to 
my  taste. 

The  commencement  of  '61  promised  much  pleas- 
ure for  the  rest  of  the  year,  and  though  Secession 
was  talked  about,  I  do  not  believe  any  one  antici- 
pated the  war  that  has  been  desolating  our  country 
ever  since,  with  no  prospect  of  terminating  for  some 
time  to  come.  True  the  garrison  was  taken,  but 
then  several  pleasant  officers  of  the  Louisiana  army 
were  stationed  there,  and  made  quite  an  agreeable 
addition  to  our  small  parties,  and  we  did  not  think 
for  a  moment  that  trouble  would  grow  out  of  it  — 
at  least,  we  girls  did  not.  Next  Louisiana  seceded, 
but  still  we  did  not  trouble  ourselves  with  gloomy 
anticipations,  for  many  strangers  visited  the  town, 
and  our  parties,  rides,  and  walks  grew  gayer  and 
more  frequent. 

One  little  party  —  shall  I  ever  forget  it?  —  was 
on  the  9th  of  March,  I  think;  such  an  odd,  funny 
little  party !   Such  queer  things  happened !   What  a 

fool  Mr.  McG made  of  himself!   Even  more  so 

than  usual.  But  hush!  It's  not  fair  to  laugh  at  a 
lady  —  under  peculiar  circumstances.  And  he  tried 
so  hard  to  make  himself  agreeable,  poor  fellow,  that 
I  ought  to  like  him  for  being  so  obedient  to  my  com- 
mands. "Say  something  new;  something  funny,"  I 
said,  tired  of  a  subject  on  which  he  had  been  expa- 

5 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tiating  all  the  evening ;  for  I  had  taken  a  long  ride 
with  him  before  sunset,  he  had  escorted  me  to  Mrs. 
Brunot's,  and  here  he  was  still  at  my  side,  and  his 
conversation  did  not  interest  me.  To  hear,  with  him, 
was  to  obey.  "Something  funny?  Well  — "  here  he 
commenced  telling  something  about  somebody,  the 
fun  of  which  seemed  to  consist  in  the  somebody's 
having  "knocked  his  shins"  against  something  else. 
I  only  listened  to  the  latter  part;  I  was  bored,  and 
showed  it.  "Shins!"  was  I  to  laugh  at  such  a  story? 

April  1 2  th. 
Day  before  yesterday,  just  about  this  time  of 
evening,  as  I  came  home  from  the  graveyard,  Jimmy 
unexpectedly  came  in.  Ever  since  the  12th  of  Feb- 
ruary he  has  been  waiting  on  the  Yankees'  pleasure, 
in  the  Mississippi,  at  all  places  below  Columbus, 
and  having  been  under  fire  for  thirteen  days  at 
Tiptonville,  Island  No.  10  having  surrendered 
Monday  night;  and  Commodore  Hollins  thinking  it 
high  time  to  take  possession  of  the  ironclad  ram  at 
New  Orleans,  and  give  them  a  small  party  below  the 
forts,  he  carried  off  his  little  aide  from  the  McRae 
Tuesday  morning,  and  left  him  here  Thursday 
evening,  to  our  infinite  delight,  for  we  felt  as  though 
we  would  never  again  see  our  dear  little  Jimmy.  He 
has  grown  so  tall,  and  stout,  that  it  is  really  astonish- 
ing, considering  the  short  time  he  has  been  away.  .  .  . 
To  our  great  distress,  he  jumped  up  from  dinner, 
and  declared  he  must  go  to  the  city  on  the  very  next 

6 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

boat.  Commodore  Hollins  would  need  him,  he  must 
be  at  his  post,  etc.,  and  in  twenty  minutes  he  was 
off,  the  rascal,  before  we  could  believe  he  had  been 
here  at  all.  There  is  something  in  his  eye  that  reminds 
me  of  Harry,  and  tells  me  that,  like  Hal,  he  will  die 
young. 

And  these  days  that  are  going  by  remind  me  of 
Hal,  too.  I  am  walking  in  our  footsteps  of  last  year. 
The  eighth  was  the  day  we  gave  him  a  party,  on 
his  return  home.  I  see  him  so  distinctly  standing 
near  the  pier  table,  talking  to  Mr.  Sparks,  whom 
he  had  met  only  that  morning,  and  who,  three 
weeks  after,  had  Harry's  blood  upon  his  hands.  He 
is  a  murderer  now,  without  aim  or  object  in  life,  as 
before ;  with  only  one  desire  —  to  die  —  and  death 
still  flees  from  him,  and  he  Dares  not  rid  himself  of 
life. 

All  those  dancing  there  that  night  have  under- 
gone trial  and  affliction  since.  Father  is  dead,  and 
Harry.  Mr.  Trezevant  lies  at  Corinth  with  his  skull 
fractured  by  a  bullet;  every  young  man  there  has 
been  in  at  least  one  battle  since,  and  every  woman 
has  cried  over  her  son,  brother,  or  sweetheart,  going 
away  to  the  wars,  or  lying  sick  and  wounded.  And 
yet  we  danced  that  night,  and  never  thought  of 
bloodshed!  The  week  before  Louisiana  seceded, 
Jack  Wheat  stayed  with  us,  and  we  all  liked  him  so 
much,  and  he  thought  so  much  of  us;  —  and  last 
week  —  a  week  ago  to-day  —  he  was  killed  on  the 
battle-field  of  Shiloh. 

7 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

April  1 6th. 
Among  the  many  who  visited  us,  in  the  beginning 
of  1861,  there  was  Mr.  Bradford.  I  took  a  dislike 
to  him  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him,  and,  being 
accustomed  to  say  just  what  I  pleased  to  all  the 
other  gentlemen,  tried  it  with  him.  It  was  at  din- 
ner, and  for  a  long  while  I  had  the  advantage,  and 
though  father  would  sometimes  look  grave,  Gibbes, 
and  all  at  my  end  of  the  table,  would  scream  with 
laughter.  At  last  Mr.  Bradford  commenced  to  re- 
taliate, and  my  dislike  changed  into  respect  for  a  man 
who  could  make  an  excellent  repartee  with  perfect 
good-breeding;  and  after  dinner,  when  the  others 
took  their  leave,  and  he  asked  permission  to  remain, 
—  during  his  visit,  which  lasted  until  ten  o'clock,  he 
had  gone  over  such  a  variety  of  subjects,  conversing 
so  well  upon  all,  that  Miriam  and  I  were  so  inter- 
ested that  we  forgot  to  have  the  gas  lit ! 

April  17  th. 

And  another  was  silly  little  Mr.  B r,  my  little 

golden  calf.  What  a  —  don't  call  names !  I  owe  him 
a  grudge  for  "cold  hands,"  and  the  other  day,  when 
I  heard  of  his  being  wounded  at  Shiloh,  I  could  not 

help  laughing  a  little  at  Tom  B r's  being  hurt. 

What  was  the  use  of  throwing  a  nice,  big  cannon 
ball,  that  might  have  knocked  a  man  down,  away 
on  that  poor  little  fellow,  when  a  pea  from  a  popgun 
would  have  made  the  same  impression?  Not  but 
what  he  is  brave,  but  little  Mr.  B r  is  so  soft. 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Then  there  was  that  rattle-brain  Mr.  T 1  who, 

commencing  one  subject,  never  ceased  speaking  until 
he  had  touched  on  all.  One  evening  he  came  in 
talking,  and  never  paused  even  for  a  reply  until  he 
bowed  himself  out,  talking  still,  when  Mr.  Bradford, 
who  had  been  forced  to  silence  as  well  as  the  rest, 
threw  himself  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  ex- 
claimed, "This  man  talks  like  a  woman ! "  I  thought 

it  the  best  description  of  Mr.  T t's  conversation 

I  had  ever  heard.  It  was  all  on  the  surface,  no  pre- 
tensions to  anything  except  to  put  the  greatest  pos- 
sible number  of  words  of  no  meaning  in  one  sentence, 
while  speaking  of  the  most  trivial  thing.    Night  or 

day,  Mr.  T 1  never  passed  home  without  crying 

out  to  me,  "  Ces  jolis  yeux  bleus!"  and  if  the  parlor 
were  brightly  lighted  so  that  all  from  the  street 
might  see  us,  and  be  invisible  to  us  themselves,  I 
always  nodded  my  head  to  the  outer  darkness  and 
laughed,  no  matter  who  was  present,  though  it 
sometimes  created  remark.     You  see,  I  knew  the 

joke.  Coming  from  a  party  escorted  by  Mr.  B r, 

Miriam  by  Mr.  T 1,1  we  had  to  wait  a  long  time 

before  Rose  opened  the  door,  which  interval  I  em- 
ployed in  dancing  up  and  down  the  gallery  — 
followed  by  my  cavalier  —  singing,  — - 

"Mes  jolis  yeux  bleus, 
Bleus  comme  les  cieux, 
Mes  jolis  yeux  bleus 
Ont  ravi  son  a  me,"  etc.; 

1  Note  added  at  the  time:  "O  propriety!  Gibbes  and  Lydia  were 
with  us  too." 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

which    naive   remark    Mr.    B r,    not   speaking 

French,  lost  entirely,  and    Mr.  T 1  endorsed  it 

with  his  approbation  and  belief  in  it,  and  ever  after- 
wards called  me  "  Ces  jolis  yeux  bleus." 

April  19th,  1862. 

Another  date  in  Hal's  short  history!  I  see  myself 
walking  home  with  Mr.  McG just  after  sun- 
down, meeting  Miriam  and  Dr.  Woods  at  the  gate; 
only  that  was  a  Friday  instead  of  a  Saturday,  as 
this.  From  the  other  side,  Mr.  Sparks  comes  up  and 
joins  us.  We  stand  talking  in  the  bright  moonlight 
which  makes  Miriam  look  white  and  statue-like.  I 
am  holding  roses  in  my  hand,  in  return  for  which 
one  little  pansy  has  been  begged  from  my  garden, 
and  is  now  figuring  as  a  shirt-stud.  I  turn  to  speak 
to  that  man  of  whom  I  said  to  Dr.  Woods,  before  I 
even  knew  his  name,  "Who  is  this  man  who  passes 
here  so  constantly?  I  feel  that  I  shall  hate  him  to 
my  dying  day."  He  told  me  his  name  was  Sparks, 
a  good,  harmless  fellow,  etc.  And  afterwards,  when 
I  did  know  him,  [Dr.  Woods]  would  ask  every  time 
we  met,  "Well!  do  you  hate  Sparks  yet?"  I  could 
not  really  hate  any  one  in  my  heart,  so  I  always 
answered,  "He  is  a  good-natured  fool,  but  I  will 
hate  him  yet."  But  even  now  I  cannot:  my  only 
feeling  is  intense  pity  for  the  man  who  has  dealt 
us  so  severe  a  blow;  who  made  my  dear  father  bow 
his  gray  head,  and  shed  such  bitter  tears. 

The  moon  is  rising  still  higher  now,  and  people  are 

10 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

hurrying  to  the  grand  Meeting,  where  the  state 
of  the  country  is  to  be  discussed,  and  the  three  young 
men  bow  and  hurry  off,  too.  Later,  at  eleven  o'clock, 
Miriam  and  I  are  up  at  Lydia's  waiting  (until  the 
boat  comes)  with  Miss  Comstock  who  is  going  away. 
As  usual,  I  am  teasing  and  romping  by  turns. 
Harry  suddenly  stands  in  the  parlor  door,  looking 
very  grave,  and  very  quiet.  He  is  holding  father's 
stick  in  his  hand,  and  says  he  has  come  to  take  us 
over  home.  I  was  laughing  still,  so  I  said,  "Wait," 
while  I  prepared  for  some  last  piece  of  folly,  but  he 
smiled  for  the  first  time,  and  throwing  his  arm 
around  me,  said,  "Come  home,  you  rogue!"  and 
laughing  still,  I  followed  him. 

He  left  us  in  the  hall,  saying  he  must  go  to  Charlie's 
a  moment,  but  to  leave  the  door  open  for  him.  So 
we  went  up,  and  I  ran  in  his  room,  and  lighted  his 
gas  for  him,  as  I  did  every  night  when  we  went  up 
together.  In  a  little  while  I  heard  him  come  in  and 
go  to  his  room.  I  knew  nothing  then ;  but  next  day, 
going  into  mother's  room,  I  saw  him  standing  before 
the  glass  door  of  her  armoir,  looking  at  a  black  coat 
he  had  on.  Involuntarily  I  cried  out,  "Oh,  don't, 
Hal!"  "Don't  what?  Isn't  it  a  nice  coat?"  he 
asked.  "Yes;  but  it  is  buttoned  up  to  the  throat, 
and  I  don't  like  to  see  it.  It  looks  — "  here  I  went 
out  as  abruptly  as  I  came  in;  that  black  coat  so 
tightly  buttoned  troubled  me. 

He  came  to  our  room  after  a  while  and  said  he 
was  going  ten  miles  out  in  the  country  for  a  few 

ii 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

days.  I  begged  him  to  stay,  and  reproached  him  for 
going  away  so  soon  after  he  had  come  home.  But 
he  said  he  must,  adding,  "  Perhaps  I  am  tired  of  you, 
and  want  to  see  something  new.  I  '11  be  so  glad  to 
get  back  in  a  few  days."  Father  said  yes,  he  must  go, 
so  he  went  without  any  further  explanation. 

Walking  out  to  Mr.  Davidson's  that  evening, 
Lydia  and  I  sat  down  on  a  fallen  rail  beyond  the 
Catholic  graveyard,  and  there  she  told  me  what  had 
happened.  The  night  before,  sitting  on  Dr.  Woods's 
gallery,  with  six  or  eight  others  who  had  been  sing- 
ing, Hal  called  on  Mr.  Henderson  to  sing.  He  com- 
plied by  singing  one  that  was  not  nice.1  Old  Mr. 
Sparks  got  up  to  leave,  and  Hal  said,  "I  hope  we 
are  not  disturbing  you?"  No,  he  said  he  was  tired 
and  would  go  home.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  his 
son,  who  I  have  since  heard  was  under  the  influence 
of  opium,  —  though  Hal  always  maintained  that  he 
was  not,  —  said  it  was  a  shame  to  disturb  his  poor 
old  father.  Hal  answered,  "You  heard  what  he 
said.  We  did  not  disturb  him."  "You  are  a  liar!" 
the  other  cried.  That  is  a  name  that  none  of  our 
family  has  either  merited  or  borne  with;  and  quick 
as  thought  Hal  sprang  to  his  feet  and  struck  him 
across  the  face  with  the  walking-stick  he  held.  The 
blow  sent  the  lower  part  across  the  balcony  in  the 
street,  as  the  spring  was  loosened  by  it,  while  the 
upper  part,  to  which  was  fastened  the  sword  —  for 
it  was  father's  sword-cane  —  remained  in  his  hand. 
1  Note  by  Mrs.  Dawson  in  1896:  "Annie  Laurie!"  . 
12 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  doubt  that  he  ever  before  knew  the  cane  could  come 
apart.  Certainly  he  did  not  perceive  it,  until  the 
other  whined  piteously  he  was  taking  advantage 
over  an  unarmed  man ;  when,  cursing  him,  he  (Harry) 
threw  it  after  the  body  of  the  cane,  and  said,  "  Now 
we  are  equal."  The  other's  answer  was  to  draw  a 
knife,1  and  was  about  to  plunge  it  into  Harry,  who 
disdained  to  flinch,  when  Mr.  Henderson  threw 
himself  on  Mr.  Sparks  and  dragged  him  off. 

It  was  a  little  while  after  that  Harry  came  for  us. 
The  consequence  of  this  was  a  challenge  from  Mr. 
Sparks  in  the  morning,  which  was  accepted  by  Harry's 
friends,  who  appointed  Monday,  at  Greenwell,  to 
meet.  Lydia  did  not  tell  me  that;  she  said  she 
thought  it  had  been  settled  peaceably,  so  I  was  not 
uneasy,  and  only  wanted  Harry  to  come  back  from 
Seth  David's  soon.  The  possibility  of  his  fighting 
never  occurred  to  me. 

Sunday  evening  I  was  on  the  front  steps  with 
Miriam  and  Dr.  Woods,  talking  of  Harry  and  wish- 
ing he  would  come.  "You  want  Harry!"  the  doctor 
repeated  after  me;  "you  had  better  learn  to  live 
without  him."  "What  an  absurdity!"  I  said  and 
wondered  when  he  would  come.  Still  later,  Miriam, 
father,  and  I  were  in  the  parlor,  when  there  was  a 
tap  on  the  window,  just  above  his  head,  and  I  saw 
a  hand,  for  an  instant.  Father  hurried  out,  and  we 
heard  several  voices;  and  then  steps  going  away. 
Mother  came  down  and  asked  who  had  been  there, 

1  Note  by  Mrs.  Dawson:  Bowie  knife. 
13 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

but  we  only  knew  that,  whoever  it  was,  father  had 
afterward  gone  with  them.  Mother  went  on: 
"There  is  something  going  on,  which  is  to  be  kept 
from  me.  Every  one  seems  to  know  it,  and  to  make 
a  secret  of  it."  I  said  nothing,  for  I  had  promised 
Lydia  not  to  tell;  and  even  I  did  not  know  all. 

When  father  came  back,  Harry  was  with  him.  I 
saw  by  his  nod,  and  "How  are  you,  girls,"  how  he 
wished  us  to  take  it,  so  neither  moved  from  our 
chairs,  while  he  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  asked  what 
kind  of  a  sermon  we  had  had.  And  we  talked  of 
anything  except  what  we  were  thinking  of,  until  we 
went  upstairs. 

Hal  afterwards  told  me  that  he  had  been  arrested 
up  there,  and  father  went  with  him  to  give  bail ;  and 
that  the  sheriff  had  gone  out  to  Greenwell  after  Mr. 
Sparks.  He  told  me  all  about  it  next  morning,  say- 
ing he  was  glad  it  was  all  over,  but  sorry  for  Mr. 
Sparks ;  for  he  had  a  blow  on  his  face  which  nothing 
would  wash  out.  I  said,  "Hal,  if  you  had  fought, 
much  as  I  love  you,  I  would  rather  he  had  killed 
you  than  that  you  should  have  killed  him.  I  love 
you  too  much  to  be  willing  to  see  blood  on  your 
hands."  First  he  laughed  at  me,  then  said,  "If  I 
had  killed  him,  I  never  would  have  seen  you  again." 

We  thought  it  was  all  over;  so  did  he.  But  Baton 
Rouge  was  wild  about  it.  Mr.  Sparks  was  the  bully 
of  the  town,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  and  when- 
ever he  got  angry  or  drunk,  would  knock  down  any- 
body he  chose.   That  same  night,  before  Harry  met 

14 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

him,  he  had  slapped  one  man,  and  had  dragged 
another  over  the  room  by  the  hair ;  but  these  coolly 
went  home,  and  waited  for  a  voluntary  apology.  So 
the  mothers,  sisters,  and  intimate  friends  of  those 
who  had  patiently  borne  the  blows,  and  being 
"woolled,"  vaunted  the  example  of  their  heroes, 
and  asked  why  Dr.  Morgan  had  not  acted  as  they 
had  done,  and  waited  for  an  apology?  Then  there 
was  another  faction  who  cried  only  blood  could  wash 
out  that  blow  and  make  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Sparks 
again,  —  as  though  he  ever  had  been  one !  So  knots 
assembled  at  street  corners,  and  discussed  it,  until 
father  said  to  us  that  Monday  night,  "These  people 
are  so  excited,  and  are  trying  so  hard  to  make  this 
affair  worse,  that  I  would  not  be  surprised  if  they 
shot  each  other  down  in  the  street,"  speaking  of 
Harry  and  the  other. 

Hal  seemed  to  think  of  it  no  more,  though,  and 
Wednesday  said  he  must  go  to  the  city  and  consult 
Brother  as  to  where  he  should  permanently  estab- 
lish himself.  I  was  sorry ;  yet  glad  that  he  would  then 
get  away  from  all  this  trouble.  I  don't  know  that 
I  ever  saw  him  in  higher  spirits  than  he  was  that 
day  and  evening,  the  24th.  Lilly  and  Charlie  were 
here  until  late,  and  he  laughed  and  talked  so  inces- 
santly that  we  called  him  crazy.  We  might  have 
guessed  by  his  extravagant  spirits  that  he  was 
trying  to  conceal  something  from  us.  .  .  . 

He  went  away  before  daybreak,  and  I  never  saw 
him  again. 

15 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

April  26th,  1862. 

There  is  no  word  in  the  English  language  that  can 
express  the  state  in  which  we  are,  and  have  been, 
these  last  three  days.  Day  before  yesterday,  news 
came  early  in  the  morning  of  three  of  the  enemy's 
boats  passing  the  Forts,  and  then  the  excitement 
began.  It  increased  rapidly  on  hearing  of  the  sink- 
ing of  eight  of  our  gunboats  in  the  engagement,  the 
capture  of  the  Forts,  and  last  night,  of  the  burning 
of  the  wharves  and  cotton  in  the  city  while  the 
Yankees  were  taking  possession.  To-day,  the  ex- 
citement has  reached  the  point  of  delirium.  I  be- 
lieve I  am  one  of  the  most  self-possessed  in  my  small 
circle;  and  yet  I  feel  such  a  craving  for  news  of 
Miriam,  and  mother,  and  Jimmy,  who  are  in  the 
city,  that  I  suppose  I  am  as  wild  as  the  rest.  It  is 
nonsense  to  tell  me  I  am  cool,  with  all  these  patri- 
otic and  enthusiastic  sentiments.  Nothing  can  be 
positively  ascertained,  save  that  our  gunboats  are 
sunk,  and  theirs  are  coming  up  to  the  city.  Every- 
thing else  has  been  contradicted  until  we  really 
do  not  know  whether  the  city  has  been  taken  or 
not.  We  only  know  we  had  best  be  prepared  for 
anything.  So  day  before  yesterday,  Lilly  and  I 
sewed  up  our  jewelry,  which  may  be  of  use  if  we 
have  to  fly.  I  vow  I  will  not  move  one  step,  unless 
carried  away.    Come  what  will,  here  I  remain. 

We  went  this  morning  to  see  the  cotton  burning  — 
a  sight  never  before  witnessed,  and  probably  never 
again   to   be   seen.     Wagons,   drays,  —  everything 

16 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

that  can  be  driven  or  rolled,  —  were  loaded  with 
the  bales  and  taken  a  few  squares  back  to  burn  on 
the  commons.  Negroes  were  running  around,  cut- 
ting them  open,  piling  them  up,  and  setting  them 
afire.  All  were  as  busy  as  though  their  salvation 
depended  on  disappointing  the  Yankees.  Later, 
Charlie  sent  for  us  to  come  to  the  river  and  see  him 
fire  a  flatboat  loaded  with  the  precious  material 
for  which  the  Yankees  are  risking  their  bodies  and 
souls.  Up  and  down  the  levee,  as  far  as  we  could  see, 
negroes  were  rolling  it  down  to  the  brink  of  the  river 
where  they  would  set  them  afire  and  push  the  bales 
in  to  float  burning  down  the  tide.  Each  sent  up 
its  wreath  of  smoke  and  looked  like  a  tiny  steamer 
puffing  away.  Only  I  doubt  that  from  the  source 
to  the  mouth  of  the  river  there  are  as  many  boats 
afloat  on  the  Mississippi.  The  flatboat  was  piled 
with  as  many  bales  as  it  could  hold  without  sinking. 
Most  of  them  were  cut  open,  while  negroes  staved 
in  the  heads  of  barrels  of  alcohol,  whiskey,  etc.,  and 
dashed  bucketsful  over  the  cotton.  Others  built  up 
little  chimneys  of  pine  every  few  feet,  lined  with 
pine;knotstand  loose  cotton,  to  burn  more  quickly. 
There,  piled  the  length  of  the  whole  levee,  or  burn- 
ing in  the  river,  lay  the  work  of  thousands  of  negroes 
for  more  than  a  year  past.  It  had  come  from  every 
side.  Men  stood  by  who  owned  the  cotton  that  was 
burning  or  waiting  to  burn.  They  either  helped,  or 
looked  on  cheerfully.  Charlie  owned  but  sixteen 
bales  —  a  matter  of  some  fifteen  hundred  dollars ; 

17 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

but  he  was  the  head  man  of  the  whole  affair,  and 
burned  his  own,  as  well  as  the  property  of  others. 
A  single  barrel  of  whiskey  that  was  thrown  on  the 
cotton,  cost  the  man  who  gave  it  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars.  (It  shows  what  a  nation  in  ear- 
nest is  capable  of  doing.)  Only  two  men  got  on  the 
flatboat  with  Charlie  when  it  was  ready.  It  was 
towed  to  the  middle  of  the  river,  set  afire  in  every 
place,  and  then  they  jumped  into  a  little  skiff 
fastened  in  front,  and  rowed  to  land.  The  cotton 
floated  down  the  Mississippi  one  sheet  of  living 
flame,  even  in  the  sunlight.  It  would  have  been 
grand  at  night.  But  then  we  will  have  fun  watching 
it  this  evening  anyway ;  for  they  cannot  get  through 
to-day,  though  no  time  is  to  be  lost.  Hundreds  of 
bales  remained  untouched.  An  incredible  amount  of 
property  has  been  destroyed  to-day;  but  no  one  be- 
grudges it.  Every  grog-shop  has  been  emptied,  and 
gutters  and  pavements  are  floating  with  liquors  of 
all  kinds.  So  that  if  the  Yankees  are  fond  of  strong 
drink,  they  will  fare  ill. 

Yesterday,  Mr.  Hutchinson  and  a  Dr.  Moffat 
called  to  ask  for  me,  with  a  message  about  Jimmy. 
I  was  absent,  but  they  saw  Lilly.  Jimmy,  they  said, 
was  safe.  Though  sick  in  bed,  he  had  sprung  up  and 
had  rushed  to  the  wharf  at  the  first  tap  of  the  alarm 
bell  in  New  Orleans.  But  as  nothing  could  be  done, 
he  would  probably  be  with  us  to-day,  bringing 
mother  and  Miriam.  I  have  neither  heard  nor  seen 
more.   The  McRae,  they  said,  went  to  the  bottom 

18 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

with  the  others.  They  did  not  know  whether  any 
one  aboard  had  escaped.  God  be  praised  that  Jimmy 
was  not  on  her  then !  The  new  boat  to  which  he  was 
appointed  is  not  yet  finished.  So  he  is  saved !  I  am 
distressed  about  Captain  Huger,  and  could  not  re- 
frain from  crying,  he  was  so  good  to  Jimmy.  But 
I  remembered  Miss  Cammack  might  think  it  rather 
tender  and  obtrusive,  so  I  dried  my  eyes  and  began  to 
hope  he  had  escaped.  Oh!  how  glad  I  should  be  to 
know  he  has  suffered  no  harm.  Mr.  Hutchinson  was 
on  his  way  above,  going  to  join  others  where  the 
final  battle  is  to  be  fought  on  the  Mississippi.  He 
had  not  even  time  to  sit  down ;  so  I  was  doubly  grate- 
ful to  him  for  his  kindness.  I  wish  I  could  have 
thanked  him  for  being  so  considerate  of  me  in  my 
distress  now.  In  her  agitation,  Lilly  gave  him  a 
letter  I  had  been  writing  to  George  when  I  was 
called  away ;  and  begged  him  to  address  it  and  mail 
it  at  Vicksburg,  or  somewhere ;  for  no  mail  will  leave 
here  for  Norfolk  for  a  long  while  to  come.  The  odd 
part  is,  that  he  does  not  know  George.  But  he  said 
he  would  gladly  take  charge  of  it  and  remember  the 
address,  which  Lilly  told  him  was  Richmond.  Well! 
if  the  Yankees  get  it  they  will  take  it  for  an  insane 
scrawl.  I  wanted  to  calm  his  anxiety  about  us, 
though  I  was  so  wildly  excited  that  I  could  only 
say,  "  Don't  mind  us !  We  are  safe.  But  fight,  George ! 
Fight  for  us!"  The  repetition  was  ludicrous.  I 
meant  so  much,  too!  I  only  wanted  him  to  under- 
stand he  could  best  defend  us  there.  Ah!  Mr.  Yan- 

19 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

kee!  if  you  had  but  your  brothers  in  this  world,  and 
their  lives  hanging  by  a  thread,  you  too  might 
write  wild  letters !  And  if  you  want  to  know  what  an 
excited  girl  can  do,  just  call  and  let  me  show  you 
the  use  of  a  small  seven-shooter  and  a  large  carving- 
knife  which  vibrate  between  my  belt  and  my  pocket, 

always  ready  for  emergencies. 

April  27th. 

What  a  day!  Last  night  came  a  dispatch  that 
New  Orleans  was  under  British  protection,  and  could 
not  be  bombarded ;  consequently,  the  enemy's  gun- 
boats would  probably  be  here  this  morning,  such  few 
as  had  succeeded  in  passing  the  Forts;  from  nine  to 
fifteen,  it  was  said.  And  the  Forts,  they  said,  had 
not  surrendered.  I  went  to  church;  but  I  grew  very 
anxious  before  it  was  over,  feeling  that  I  was  needed 
at  home.  When  I  returned,  I  found  Lilly  wild  with 
excitement,  picking  up  hastily  whatever  came  to 
hand,  preparing  for  instant  flight,  she  knew  not 
where.  The  Yankees  were  in  sight;  the  town  was  to 
be  burned;  we  were  to  run  to  the  woods,  etc.  If  the 
house  had  to  be  burned,  I  had  to  make  up  my  mind 
to  run,  too.  So  my  treasure-bag  tied  around  my  waist 
as  a  bustle,  a  sack  with  a  few  necessary  articles  hang- 
ing on  my  arm,  some  few  quite  unnecessary  ones,  too, 
as  I  had  not  the  heart  to  leave  the  old  and  new  prayer 
books  father  had  given  me,  and  Miriam's,  too;  — 
pistol  and  carving-knife  ready,  I  stood  awaiting  the 
exodus.  I  heaped  on  the  bed  the  treasures  I  wanted 
to  burn,  matches  lying  ready  to  fire  the  whole  at  the 

20 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

last  minute.  I  may  here  say  that,  when  all  was  over, 
I  found  I  had  omitted  many  things  from  the  holo- 
caust. This  very  diary  was  not  included.  It  would 
have  afforded  vast  amusement  to  the  Yankees. 
There  may  yet  be  occasion  to  burn  them,  and  the 
house  also.  People  fortunately  changed  their  minds 
about  the  auto-da-fe  just  then ;  and  the  Yankees  have 
not  yet  arrived,  at  sundown.  So,  when  the  excite- 
ment calmed  down,  poor  Lilly  tumbled  in  bed  in  a 
high  fever  in  consequence  of  terror  and  exertion. 

[A  page  torn  out] 

I  was  right  in  that  prophecy.  For  this  was  not  the 
Will  Pinckney  I  saw  last.  So  woebegone!  so  subdued, 
careworn,  and  sad!  No  trace  of  his  once  merry  self. 
He  is  good-looking,  which  he  never  was  before.  But 
I  would  rather  never  have  seen  him  than  have  found 
him  so  changed.  I  was  talking  to  a  ghost.  His  was  a 
sad  story.  He  had  held  one  bank  of  the  river  until 
forced  to  retreat  with  his  men,  as  their  cartridges 
were  exhausted,  and  General  Lovell  omitted  sending 
more.  They  had  to  pass  through  swamps,  wading 
seven  and  a  half  miles,  up  to  their  waists  in  water. 
He  gained  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  saw  they  were  over 
the  worst,  and  fell  senseless.  Two  of  his  men  brought 
him  milk,  and  "woke  him  up,"  he  said.  His  men  fell 
from  exhaustion,  were  lost,  and  died  in  the  swamp ; 
so  that  out  of  five  hundred,  but  one  hundred  escaped. 
This  he  told  quietly  and  sadly,  looking  so  heart- 
broken that  it  was  piteous  to  see  such  pain.     He 

21' 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

showed  me  his  feet,  with  thick  clumsy  shoes  which  an 
old  negro  had  pulled  off  to  give  him ;  for  his  were  lost 
in  the  swamp,  and  he  came  out  bare-footed.  They 
reached  the  Lafourche  River,  I  believe,  seized  a  boat, 
and  arrived  here  last  night.  His  wife  and  child  were 
aboard.  Heaven  knows  how  they  got  there!  The 
men  he  sent  on  to  Port  Hudson,  while  he  stopped 
here.  I  wanted  to  bring  his  wife  to  stay  with  us;  but 
he  said  she  could  not  bear  to  be  seen,  as  she  had  run 
off  just  as  she  had  happened  to  be  at  that  moment. 
In  half  an  hour  he  would  be  off  to  take  her  to  his  old 
home  in  a  carriage.  There  he  would  rejoin  his  men, 
on  the  railroad,  and  march  from  Clinton  to  the 
Jackson  road,  and  so  on  to  Corinth.  A  long  journey 
for  men  so  disheartened !  But  they  will  conquer  in 
the  end.  Beauregard's  army  will  increase  rapidly  at 
this  rate.  The  whole  country  is  aroused,  and  every 
man  who  owns  a  gun,  and  many  who  do  not,  are  on 
the  road  to  Corinth.   We  will  conquer  yet. 

May  5th. 
Vile  old  Yankee  boats,  four  in  number,  passed  up 
this  morning  without  stopping.  After  all  our  excite- 
ment, this  "silent  contempt"  annihilated  me!  What 
in  the  world  do  they  mean?  The  river  was  covered 
with  burning  cotton;  perhaps  they  want  to  see 

where  it  came  from. 

May  9th. 

Our  lawful  (?)  owners  have  at  last  arrived.  About 
sunset,  day  before  yesterday,  the  Iroquois  anchored 

22 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

here,  and  a  graceful  young  Federal  stepped  ashore, 
carrying  a  Yankee  flag  over  his  shoulder,  and  asked 
the  way  to  the  Mayor's  office.  I  like  the  style!  If 
we  girls  of  Baton  Rouge  had  been  at  the  landing, 
instead  of  the  men,  that  Yankee  would  never  have 
insulted  us  by  flying  his  flag  in  our  faces !  We  would 
have  opposed  his  landing  except  under  a  flag  of 
truce ;  but  the  men  let  him  alone,  and  he  even  found 
a  poor  Dutchman  willing  to  show  him  the  road ! 

He  did  not  accomplish  much;  said  a  formal  de- 
mand would  be  made  next  day,  and  asked  if  it  was 
safe  for  the  men  to  come  ashore  and  buy  a  few  neces- 
saries, when  he  was  assured  the  $jr  of  Baton  Rouge 
was  very  unhealthy  for  Yankee  soldiers  at  night. 
He  promised  very  magnanimously  not  to  shell  us 
out  if  we  did  not  molest  him;  but  I  notice  none  of 
them  dare  set  their  feet  on  terra  firma,  except  the  offi- 
cer who  has  now  called  three  times  on  the  Mayor, 
and  who  is  said  to  tremble  visibly  as  he  walks  the 
streets. 

Last  evening  came  the  demand :  the  town  must  be 
surrendered  immediately;  the  Federal  flag  Must  be 
raised;  they  would  grant  us  the  same  terms  they 
granted  New  Orleans.  Jolly  terms  those  were!  The 
answer  was  worthy  of  a  Southerner.  It  was,  "The 
town  was  defenseless ;  if  we  had  cannon,  there  were 
not  men  enough  to  resist;  but  if  forty  vessels  lay  at 
the  landing,  —  it  was  intimated  we  were  in  their 
power,  and  more  ships  coming  up,  —  we  would  not 
surrender;  if  they  wanted,  they  might  come  and 

23 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Take  us ;  if  they  wished  the  Federal  flag  hoisted  over 
the  Arsenal,  they  might  put  it  up  for  themselves,  the 
town  had  no  control  over  Government  property." 
Glorious !  What  a  pity  they  did  not  shell  the  town ! 
But  they  are  taking  us  at  our  word,  and  this  morning 
they  are  landing  at  the  Garrison. 

"All  devices,  signs,  and  flags  of  the  Confederacy 
shall  be  suppressed."  So  says  Picayune  Butler. 
Good.  I  devote  all  my  red,  white,  and  blue  silk  to  the 
manufacture  of  Confederate  flags.  As  soon  as  one  is 
confiscated,  I  make  another,  until  my  ribbon  is  ex- 
hausted, when  I  will  sport  a  duster  emblazoned  in 
high  colors,  "Hurra!  for  the  Bonny  blue  flag!" 
Henceforth,  I  wear  one  pinned  to  my  bosom  —  not 
a  duster,  but  a  little  flag;  the  man  who  says  take  it 
off  will  have  to  pull  it  off  for  himself;  the  man  who 
dares  attempt  it  —  well !  a  pistol  in  my  pocket  fills 
up  the  gap.    I  am  capable,  too. 

This  is  a  dreadful  war,  to  make  even  the  hearts  of 
women  so  bitter!  I  hardly  know  myself  these  last 
few  weeks.  I,  who  have  such  a  horror  of  bloodshed, 
consider  even  killing  in  self-defense  murder,  who 
cannot  wish  them  the  slightest  evil,  whose  only 
prayer  is  to  have  them  sent  back  in  peace  to  their 
own  country,  —  I  talk  of  killing  them !  For  what 
else  do  I  wear  a  pistol  and  carving-knife?  I  am  afraid 
I  will  try  them  on  the  first  one  who  says  an  insolent 
word  to  me.  Yes,  and  repent  for  it  ever  after  in  sack- 
cloth and  ashes.  01  if  I  was  only  a  man!  Then  I 
could  don  the  breeches,  and  slay  them  with  a  will! 

24 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

If  some  few  Southern  women  were  in  the  ranks,  they 

could  set  the  men  an  example  they  would  not  blush 

to  follow.  Pshaw !  there  are  no  women  here !  We  are 

all  men ! 

May  ioth. 

Last  night  about  one  o'clock  I  was  wakened  and 
told  that  mother  and  Miriam  had  come.  Oh,  how 
glad  I  was!  I  tumbled  out  of  bed  half  asleep  and 
hugged  Miriam  in  a  dream,  but  waked  up  when  I  got 
to  mother.  They  came  up  under  a  flag  of  truce,  on 
a  boat  going  up  for  provisions,  which,  by  the  way, 
was  brought  to  by  half  a  dozen  Yankee  ships  in  suc- 
cession, with  a  threat  to  send  a  broadside  into  her 
if  she  did  not  stop  —  the  wretches  knew  it  must  be 
under  a  flag  of  truce ;  no  boats  leave,  except  by  special 
order  to  procure  provisions. 

What  tales  they  had  to  tell!  They  were  on  the 
wharf,  and  saw  the  ships  sail  up  the  river,  saw  the 
broadside  fired  into  Will  Pinckney's  regiment,  the 
boats  we  fired,  our  gunboats,  floating  down  to  meet 
them  all  wrapped  in  flames ;  twenty  thousand  bales 
of  cotton  blazing  in  a  single  pile ;  molasses  and  sugar 
thrown  over  everything.  They  stood  there  opposite 
to  where  one  of  the  ships  landed,  expecting  a  broad- 
side, and  resolute  not  to  be  shot  in  the  back.  I  wish 
I  had  been  there !  And  Captain  Huger  is  not  dead ! 
They  had  hopes  of  his  life  for  the  first  time  day  be- 
fore yesterday.  Miriam  saw  the  ball  that  had  just 
been  extracted.  He  will  probably  be  lame  for  the 
rest  of  his  life.    It  will  be  a  glory  to  him.    For  even 

25 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

the  Federal  officers  say  that  never  did  they  see  so 
gallant  a  little  ship,  or  one  that  fought  so  desperately 
as  the  McRae.  Men  and  officers  fought  like  devils. 
Think  of  all  those  great  leviathans  after  the  poor 
little  "  Widow  Mickey  " !  One  came  tearing  down  on 
her  sideways,  while  the  Brooklyn  fired  on  her  from 
the  other  side,  when  brave  Captain  Warley  put  the 
nose  of  the  Manassas  under  the  first,  and  tilted  her 
over  so  that  the  whole  broadside  passed  over,  in- 
stead of  through,  the  McRae,  who  spit  back  its  poor 
little  fire  at  both.  And  after  all  was  lost,  she  carried 
the  wounded  and  the  prisoners  to  New  Orleans,  and 
was  scuttled  by  her  own  men  in  port.  Glorious 
Captain  Huger!  And  think  of  his  sending  word  to 
Jimmy,  suffering  as  he  was,  that  "his  little  brass 
cannon  was  game  to  the  last."  Oh!  I  hope  he  will 
recover.  Brave,  dare-devil  Captain  Warley  is  pris- 
oner, and  on  the  way  to  Fort  Warren,  that  home 
of  all  brave,  patriotic  men.  We'll  have  him  out. 
And  my  poor  little  Jimmy!  If  I  have  not  spoken  of 
him,  it  is  not  because  I  have  lost  sight  of  him  for  a 
moment.  The  day  the  McRae  went  down,  he  arose 
from  his  bed,  ill  as  he  was,  and  determined  to  rejoin 
her,  as  his  own  boat,  the  Mississippi,  was  not  ready. 
When  he  reached  the  St.  Charles,  he  fell  so  very  ill 
that  he  had  to  be  carried  back  to  Brother's.  Only 
his  desperate  illness  saved  him  from  being  among  the 
killed  or  wounded  on  that  gallant  little  ship.  A  few 
days  after,  he  learned  the  fate  of  the  ship,  and  was 
told  that  Captain  Huger  was  dead.    No  wonder  he 

26 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

should  cry  so  bitterly!  For  Captain  Huger  was  as 
tender  and  as  kind  to  him  as  his  own  dear  father. 
God  bless  him  for  it !  The  enemy's  ships  were  sailing 
up;  so  he  threw  a  few  articles  in  a  carpet-bag  and 
started  off  for  Richmond,  Corinth,  anywhere,  to 
fight.  Sick,  weak,  hardly  able  to  stand,  he  went  off, 
two  weeks  ago  yesterday.  We  know  not  where,  and 
we  have  never  heard  from  him  since.  Whether  he 
succumbed  to  that  jaundice  and  the  rest,  and  lies 
dead  or  dying  on  the  road,  God  only  knows.  We  can 
only  wait  and  pray  God  to  send  dear  little  Jimmy 
home  in  safety. 

And  this  is  war!*  Heaven  save  me  from  like 
scenes  and  experiences  again.  I  was  wild  with  ex- 
citement last  night  when  Miriam  described  how  the 
soldiers,  marching  to  the  depot,  waved  their  hats  to 
the  crowds  of  women  and  children,  shouting,  "God 
bless  you,  ladies!  We  will  fight  for  you!"  and  they, 
waving  their  handkerchiefs,  sobbed  with  one  voice, 
"God  bless  you,  Soldiers!   Fight  for  us!" 

We,  too,  have  been  having  our  fun.  Early  in  the 
evening,  four  more  gunboats  sailed  up  here.  We  saw 
them  from  the  corner,  three  squares  off,  crowded  with 
men  even  up  in  the  riggings.  The  American  flag  was 
flying  from  every  peak.  It  was  received  in  profound 
silence,  by  the  hundreds  gathered  on  the  banks.  I 
could  hardly  refrain  from  a  groan.  Much  as  I  once 
loved  that  flag,  I  hate  it  now !  I  came  back  and  made 
myself  a  Confederate  flag  about  five  inches  long, 
slipped  the  staff  in  my  belt,  pinned  the  flag  to  my 

27 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

shoulder,  and  walked  downtown,  to  the  consterna- 
tion of  women  and  children,  who  expected  something 
awful  to  follow.  An  old  negro  cried,  "My  young 
missus  got  her  flag  flyin',  anyhow!"  Nettie  made 
one  and  hid  it  in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  But  we  were 
the  only  two  who  ventured.  We  went  to  the  State 
House  terrace,  and  took  a  good  look  at  the  Brooklyn 
which  was  crowded  with  people  who  took  a  good 
look  at  us,  likewise.  The  picket  stationed  at  the 
Garrison  took  alarm  at  half  a  dozen  men  on  horse- 
back and  ran,  saying  that  the  citizens  were  attack- 
ing. The  kind  officers  aboard  the  ship  sent  us  word 
that  if  they  were  molested,  the  town  would  be 
shelled.  Let  them!  Butchers!  Does  it  take  thirty 
thousand  men  and  millions  of  dollars  to  murder 
defenseless  women  and  children?  O  the  great  nation! 

Bravo ! 

May  nth. 

I  —  I  am  disgusted  with  myself.  No  unusual 
thing,  but  I  am  peculiarly  disgusted  this  time.  Last 
evening,  I  went  to  Mrs.  Brunot's,  without  an  idea 
of  going  beyond,  with  my  flag  flying  again.  They 
were  all  going  to  the  State  House,  so  I  went  with 
them;  to  my  great  distress,  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
Federal  officers  were  standing  on  the  first  terrace, 
stared  at  like  wild  beasts  by  the  curious  crowd.  I  had 
not  expected  to  meet  them,  and  felt  a  painful  con- 
viction that  I  was  unnecessarily  attracting  attention, 
by  an  unladylike  display  of  defiance,  from  the  crowd 
gathered  there.  But  what  was  I  to  do?  I  felt  humili- 

28 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ated,  conspicuous,  everything  that  is  painful  and 
disagreeable ;  but  —  strike  my  colors  in  the  face  of 
the  enemy?  Never!  Nettie  and  Sophie  had  them, 
too,  but  that  was  no  consolation  for  the  shame  I 
suffered  by  such  a  display  so  totally  distasteful  to 
me.  How  I  wished  myself  away,  and  chafed  at  my 
folly,  and  hated  myself  for  being  there,  and  every 
one  for  seeing  me.  I  hope  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  me 
always  to  remember  a  lady  can  gain  nothing  by 
such  display. 

I  was  not  ashamed  of  the  flag  of  my  country,  — 
I  proved  that  by  never  attempting  to  remove  it  in 
spite  of  my  mortification,  —  but  I  was  ashamed  of 
my  position ;  for  these  are  evidently  gentlemen,  not 
the  Billy  Wilson's  crew  we  were  threatened  with. 
Fine,  noble-looking  men  they  were,  showing  refine- 
ment and  gentlemanly  bearing  in  every  motion.  One 
cannot  help  but  admire  such  foes!  They  set  us  an 
example  worthy  of  our  imitation,  and  one  we  would 
be  benefited  by  following.  They  come  as  visitors 
without  either  pretensions  to  superiority,  or  the  in- 
solence of  conquerors;  they  walk  quietly  their  way, 
offering  no  annoyance  to  the  citizens,  though  they 
themselves  are  stared  at  most  unmercifully,  and  pur- 
sued by  crowds  of  ragged  little  boys,  while  even 
men  gape  at  them  with  open  mouths.  They  prove 
themselves  gentlemen,  while  many  of  our  citizens 
have  proved  themselves  boors,  and  I  admire  them 
for  their  conduct.  With  a  conviction  that  I  had  al- 
lowed myself  to  be  influenced  by  bigoted,  narrow- 

29 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

minded  people,  in  believing  them  to  be  unworthy  of 
respect  or  regard,  I  came  home  wonderfully  changed 
in  all  my  newly  acquired  sentiments,  resolved  never 
more  to  wound  their  feelings,  who  were  so  careful 
of  ours,  by  such  unnecessary  display.  And  I  hung 
my  flag  on  the  parlor  mantel,  there  to  wave,  if  it 
will,  in  the  shades  of  private  life ;  but  to  make  a  show, 
make  me  conspicuous  and  ill  at  ease,  as  I  was  yes- 
terday, —  never  again ! 

There  was  a  dozen  officers  in  church  this  morning, 
and  the  psalms  for  the  nth  day  seemed  so  singularly 
appropriate  to  the  feelings  of  the  people,  that  I  felt 
uncomfortable  for  them.  They  answered  with  us, 
though. 

May  14th. 

I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  we  are  even  of  more 
importance  in  Baton  Rouge  than  we  thought  we 
were.  It  is  laughable  to  hear  the  things  a  certain 
set  of  people,  who  know  they  can't  visit  us,  say 
about  the  whole  family.  .  .  .  When  father  was  alive, 
they  dared  not  talk  about  us  aloud,  beyond  calling 
us  the  "Proud  Morgans"  and  the  "Aristocracy  of 
Baton  Rouge"  .  .  .  But  now  father  is  gone,  the 
people  imagine  we  are  public  property,  to  be  criti- 
cized, vilified,  and  abused  to  their  hearts'  con- 
tent. .  .  . 

And  now,  because  they  find  absurdities  don't  suc- 
ceed, they  try  improbabilities.  So  yesterday  the 
town  was  in  a  ferment  because  it  was  reported  the 
Federal  officers  had  called  on  the  Miss  Morgans,  and 

30 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

all  the  gentlemen  were  anxious  to  hear  how  they  had 
been  received.  One  had  the  grace  to  say,  "If  they 
did,  they  received  the  best  lesson  there  that  they 
could  get  in  town ;  those  young  ladies  would  meet 
them  with  the  true  Southern  spirit."  The  rest  did  not 
know;  they  would  like  to  find  out. 

I  suppose  the  story  originated  from  the  fact  that 
we  were  unwilling  to  blackguard  —  yes,  that  is  the 
word  —  the  Federal  officers  here,  and  would  not 
agree  with  many  of  our  friends  in  saying  they  were 
liars,  thieves,  murderers,  scoundrels,  the  scum  of 
the  earth,  etc.  Such  epithets  are  unworthy  of 
ladies,  I  say,  and  do  harm,  rather  than  advance  our 
cause.  Let  them  be  what  they  will,  it  shall  not  make 
me  less  the  lady;  I  say  it  is  unworthy  of  anything 
except  low  newspaper  war,  such  abuse,  and  I  will 
not  join  in. 

I  have  a  brother-in-law  in  the  Federal  army  whom 
I  love  and  respect  as  much  as  any  one  in  the  world, 
and  shall  not  readily  agree  that  his  being  a  North- 
erner would  give  him  an  irresistible  desire  to  pick 
my  pockets,  and  take  from  him  all  power  of  telling 
the  truth.  No!  There  are  few  men  I  admire  more 
than  Major  Drum,  and  I  honor  him  for  his  inde- 
pendence in  doing  what  he  believes  right.  Let  us 
have  liberty  of  speech  and  action  in  our  land,  I  say, 
but  not  gross  abuse  and  calumny.  Shall  I  acknowl- 
edge that  the  people  we  so  recently  called  our 
brothers  are  unworthy  of  consideration,  and  are  liars, 
cowards,  dogs?     Not   I!     If  they   conquer   us,  I 

3i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

acknowledge  them  as  a  superior  race ;  I  will  not  say 
that  we  were  conquered  by  cowards,  for  where  would 
that  place  us?  It  will  take  a  brave  people  to  gain  us, 
and  that  the  Northerners  undoubtedly  are.  I  would 
scorn  to  have  an  inferior  foe ;  I  fight  only  my  equals. 
These  women  may  acknowledge  that  cowards  have 
won  battles  in  which  their  brothers  were  engaged, 
but  I,  I  will  ever  say  mine  fought  against  brave  men, 
and  won  the  day.   Which  is  most  honorable? 

I  was  never  a  Secessionist,  for  I  quietly  adopted 
father's  views  on  political  subjects  without  meddling 
with  them.  But  even  father  went  over  with  his 
State,  and  when  so  many  outrages  were  committed 
by  the  fanatical  leaders  of  the  North,  though  he 
regretted  the  Union,  said,  "Fight  to  the  death  for 
our  liberty."  I  say  so,  too.  I  want  to  fight  until  we 
win  the  cause  so  many  have  died  for.  I  don't  believe 
in  Secession,  but  I  do  in  Liberty.  I  want  the  South 
to  conquer,  dictate  its  own  terms,  and  go  back  to 
the  Union,  for  I  believe  that,  apart,  inevitable  ruin 
awaits  both.  It  is  a  rope  of  sand,  this  Confederacy, 
founded  on  the  doctrine  of  Secession,  and  will  not 
last  many  years  —  not  five.  The  North  Cannot  sub- 
due us.  We  are  too  determined  to  be  free.  They  have 
no  right  to  confiscate  our  property  to  pay  debts  they 
themselves  have  incurred.  Death  as  a  nation,  rather 
than  Union  on  such  terms.  We  will  have  our  rights 
secured  on  so  firm  a  basis  that  it  can  never  be  shaken. 
If  by  power  of  overwhelming  numbers  they  conquer 
us,  it  will  be  a  barren  victory  over  a  desolate  land. 

32 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

We,  the  natives  of  this  loved  soil,  will  be  beggars  in 
a  foreign  land;  we  will  not  submit  to  despotism 
under  the  garb  of  Liberty.  The  North  will  find 
herself  burdened  with  an  unparalleled  debt,  with 
nothing  to  show  for  it  except  deserted  towns, 
burning  homes,  a  standing  army  which  will  govern 
with  no  small  caprice,  and  an  impoverished  land. 
If  that  be  treason,  make  the  best  of  it! 

May  17th. 

One  of  these  days,  when  peace  is  restored  and  we 
are  quietly  settled  in  our  allotted  corners  of  this 
wide  world  without  any  particularly  exciting  event 
to  alarm  us ;  and  with  the  knowledge  of  what  is  now 
the  future,  and  will  then  be  the  dead  past;  seeing 
that  all  has  been  for  the  best  for  us  in  the  end ;  that 
all  has  come  right  in  spite  of  us,  we  will  wonder  how 
we  could  ever  have  been  foolish  enough  to  await 
each  hour  in  such  breathless  anxiety.  We  will  ask 
ourselves  if  it  was  really  true  that  nightly,  as  we  lay 
down  to  sleep,  we  did  not  dare  plan  for  the  morning, 
feeling  that  we  might  be  homeless  and  beggars  before 
the  dawn.  How  unreal  it  will  then  seem !  We  will  say 
it  was  our  wild  imagination,  perhaps.  But  how 
bitterly,  horribly  true  it  is  now! 

Four  days  ago  the  Yankees  left  us,  to  attack 
Vicksburg,  leaving  their  flag  flying  in  the  Garrison 
without  a  man  to  guard  it,  and  with  the  understand- 
ing that  the  town  would  be  held  responsible  for  it. 
It  was  intended  for  a  trap;  and  it  succeeded.    For 

33 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

night  before  last,  it  was  pulled  down  and  torn  to 
pieces. 

Now,  unless  Will  will  have  the  kindness  to  sink 
a  dozen  of  their  ships  up  there,  —  I  hear  he  has  com- 
mand of  the  lower  batteries,  —  they  will  be  back  in 
a  few  days,  and  will  execute  their  threat  of  shelling 
the  town.  If  they  do,  what  will  become  of  us?  All  we 
expect  in  the  way  of  earthly  property  is  as  yet  mere 
paper,  which  will  be  so  much  trash  if  the  South  is 
ruined,  as  it  consists  of  debts  due  father  by  many 
planters  for  professional  services  rendered,  who,  of 
course,  will  be  ruined,  too,  so  all  money  is  gone. 
That  is  nothing,  we  will  not  be  ashamed  to  earn  our 
bread,  so  let  it  go. 

But  this  house  is  at  least  a  shelter  from  the  weather, 
all  sentiment  apart.  And  our  servants,  too;  how 
could  they  manage  without  us?  The  Yankees,  on 
the  river,  and  a  band  of  guerrillas  in  the  woods,  are 
equally  anxious  to  precipitate  a  fight.  Between  the 
two  fires,  what  chance  for  us?  It  would  take  only  a 
little  while  to  burn  the  city  over  our  heads.  They  say 
the  women  and  children  must  be  removed,  these 
guerrillas.  Where,  please?  Charlie  says  we  must  go 
to  Greenwell.  And  have  this  house  pillaged?  For 
Butler  has  decreed  that  no  unoccupied  house  shall 
be  respected.  If  we  stay  through  the  battle,  if  the 
Federals  are  victorious,  we  will  suffer.  For  the  offi- 
cers here  were  reported  to  have  said,  "If  the  people 
here  did  not  treat  them  decently,  they  would  know 
what   it  was   when   Billy   Wilson's   crew   arrived. 

34 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

They  would  give  them  a  lesson!"  That  select  crowd 
is  now  in  New  Orleans.  Heaven  help  us  when  they 
reach  here!  It  is  in  these  small  cities  that  the  great- 
est outrages  are  perpetrated.   What  are  we  to  do? 

A  new  proclamation  from  Butler  has  just  come.  It 
seems  that  the  ladies  have  an  ugly  way  of  gathering 
their  skirts  when  the  Federals  pass,  to  avoid  any 
possible  contact.  Some  even  turn  up  their  noses.  Un- 
ladylike, to  say  the  least.  But  it  is,  maybe,  owing  to 
the  odor  they  have,  which  is  said  to  be  unbearable 
even  at  this  early  season  of  the  year.  Butler  says, 
whereas  the  so-called  ladies  of  New  Orleans  insult 
his  men  and  officers,  he  gives  one  and  all  permission 
to  insult  any  or  all  who  so  treat  them,  then  and 
there,  with  the  assurance  that  the  women  will  not 
receive  the  slightest  protection  from  the  Govern- 
ment, and  that  the  men  will  all  be  justified.  I  did  not 
have  time  to  read  it,  but  repeat  it  as  it  was  told  to 
me  by  mother,  who  is  in  utter  despair  at  the  brutal- 
ity of  the  thing.  These  men  our  brothers  ?  Not  mine ! 
Let  us  hope  for  the  honor  of  their  nation  that  Butler 
is  not  counted  among  the  gentlemen  of  the  land. 
And  so,  if  any  man  should  fancy  he  cared  to  kiss  me, 
he  could  do  so  under  the  pretext  that  I  had  pulled 
my  dress  from  under  his  feet!  That  will  justify 
them !  And  if  we  decline  their  visits,  they  can  insult 
us  under  the  plea  of  a  prior  affront.  Oh!  Gibbes! 
George!  Jimmy!  never  did  we  need  your  protection 
as  sorely  as  now.  And  not  to  know  even  whether 
you  are  alive !  When  Charlie  joins  the  army,  we  will 

35 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

be  defenseless,  indeed.  Come  to  my  bosom,  O  my 
discarded  carving-knife,  laid  aside  under  the  im- 
pression that  these  men  were  gentlemen.  We  will  be 
close  friends  once  more.  And  if  you  must  have  a 
sheath,  perhaps  I  may  find  one  for  you  in  the  heart 
of  the  first  man  who  attempts  to  Butlerize  me.  I 
never  dreamed  of  kissing  any  man  save  my  father  and 
brothers.  And  why  any  one  should  care  to  kiss  any 
one  else,  I  fail  to  understand.  And  I  do  not  propose 
to  learn  to  make  exceptions. 

Still  no  word  from  the  boys.  We  hear  that  Nor- 
folk has  been  evacuated ;  but  no  details.  George  was 
there.  Gibbes  is  wherever  Johnston  is,  presumably 
on  the  Rappahannock ;  but  it  is  more  than  six  weeks 
since  we  have  heard  from  either  of  them,  and  all 
communication  is  cut  off. 

May  2  ist. 

I  have  had  such  a  search  for  shoes  this  week  that 
I  am  disgusted  with  shopping.  I  am  triumphant 
now,  for  after  traversing  the  town  in  every  direction 
and  finding  nothing,  I  finally  discovered  a  pair  of 
boots  just  made  for  a  little  negro  to  go  fishing  with, 
and  only  an  inch  and  a  half  too  long  for  me,  besides 
being  unbendable;  but  I  seized  them  with  avidity, 
and  the  little  negro  would  have  been  outbid  if  I  had 
not  soon  after  discovered  a  pair  more  seemly,  if  not 
more  serviceable,  which  I  took  without  further  diffi- 
culty. Behold  my  tender  feet  cased  in  crocodile  skin, 
patent-leather  tipped,  low-quarter  boy's  shoes, 
No.  2!    "What  a  fall  was  there,  my  country,"  from 

36 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

my  pretty  English  glove-kid,  to  sabots  made  of  some 
animal  closely  connected  with  the  hippopotamus! 
A  dernier  ressort,  vraiment !  for  my  choice  was  that, 
or  cooling  my  feet  on  the  burning  pavement  au 
naturel;  I  who  have  such  a  terror  of  any  one  seeing 
my  naked  foot !  And  this  is  thanks  to  war  and  block- 
ade! Not  a  decent  shoe  in  the  whole  community! 
N'importe!  "Better  days  are  coming,  we'll  all"  — 
have  shoes  —  after  a  while  —  perhaps !  Why  did  not 
Mark  Tapley  leave  me  a  song  calculated  to  keep  the 
spirits  up,  under  depressing  circumstances?  I  need 
one  very  much,  and  have  nothing  more  suggestive 
than  the  old  Methodist  hymn,  "Better  days  are 
coming,  we'll  all  go  right,"  which  I  shout  so  con- 
stantly, as  our  prospects  darken,  that  it  begins  to 
sound  stale. 

May  27th. 
The  cry  is  "  Ho !  for  Greenwell ! "  Very  probably 
this  day  week  will  see  us  there.  I  don't  want  to  go. 
If  we  were  at  peace,  and  were  to  spend  a  few  months 
of  the  warmest  season  out  there,  none  would  be  more 
eager  and  delighted  than  I :  but  to  leave  our  comfort- 
able home,  and  all  it  contains,  for  a  rough  pine  cot- 
tage seventeen  miles  away  even  from  this  scanty 
civilization,  is  sad.  It  must  be!  We  are  hourly  ex- 
pecting two  regiments  of  Yankees  to  occupy  the  Gar- 
rison, and  some  fifteen  hundred  of  our  men  are  await- 
ing them  a  little  way  off ,  so  the  fight  seems  inevitable: 
And  we  must  go,  leaving  what  little  has  already  been 
spared  us  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Northern  volun- 

37 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

teers,  who,  from  the  specimen  of  plundering  they 
gave  us  two  weeks  ago,  will  hardly  leave  us  even 
the  shelter  of  our  roof.  O  my  dear  Home !  How  can 
I  help  but  cry  at  leaving  you  forever?  For  if  this 
fight  occurs,  never  again  shall  I  pass  the  threshold 
of  this  house,  where  we  have  been  so  happy  and 
sad,  the  scene  of  joyous  meetings  and  mournful 
partings,  the  place  where  we  greeted  each  other  with 
glad  shouts  after  even  so  short  a  parting,  the  place 
where  Harry  and  father  kissed  us  good-bye  and 
never  came  back  again! 

I  know  what  Lavinia  has  suffered  this  long  year, 
by  what  we  have  suffered  these  last  six  weeks.  Poor 
Lavinia,  so  far  away !  How  easier  poverty,  if  it  must 
come,  would  be  if  we  could  bear  it  together !  I  won- 
der if  the  real  fate  of  the  boys,  if  we  ever  hear,  can  be 
so  dreadful  as  this  suspense?  Still  no  news  of  them. 
My  poor  little  Jimmy!  And  think  how  desperate 
Gibbes  and  George  will  be  when  they  read  Butler's 
proclamation,  and  they  not  able  to  defend  us !  Gibbes 
was  in  our  late  victory  of  Fredericksburg,  I  know. 

In  other  days,  going  to  Greenwell  was  the  signal 
for  general  noise  and  confusion.  All  the  boys 
gathered  their  guns  and  fishing-tackle,  and  thousand 
and  one  amusements ;  father  sent  out  provisions ;  we 
helped  mother  pack;  Hal  and  I  tumbled  over  the 
libraries  to  lay  in  a  supply  of  reading  material ;  and 
all  was  bustle  until  the  carriage  drove  to  the  door 
at  daylight  one  morning,  and  swept  us  off.  It  is  not 
so  gay  this  time.    I  wandered  around  this  morning 

38 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

selecting  books  alone.  We  can  only  take  what  is 
necessary,  the  rest  being  left  to  the  care  of  the 
Northern  militia  in  general.  I  never  knew  before  how 
many  articles  were  perfectly  "indispensable"  to  me. 
This  or  that  little  token  or  keepsake,  piles  of  letters 
I  hate  to  burn,  many  dresses,  etc.,  I  cannot  take 
conveniently,  lie  around  me,  and  I  hardly  know 
which  to  choose  among  them,  yet  half  must  be 
sacrificed ;  I  can  only  take  one  trunk. 

May  30th,  Greenwell. 

After  all  our  trials  and  tribulations,  here  we  are 
at  last,  and  no  limbs  lost !  How  many  weeks  ago  was 
it  since  I  wrote  here?  It  seems  very  long  after  all 
these  events;  let  me  try  to  recall  them. 

Wednesday  the  28th,  —  a  day  to  be  forever  re- 
membered, —  as  luck  would  have  it,  we  rose  very 
early,  and  had  breakfast  sooner  than  usual,  it  would 
seem  for  the  express  design  of  becoming  famished 
before  dinner.  I  picked  up  some  of  my  letters  and 
papers  and  set  them  where  I  could  find  them  when- 
ever we  were  ready  to  go  to  Greenwell,  burning  a  pile 
of  trash  and  leaving  a  quantity  equally  worthless, 
which  were  of  no  value  even  to  myself  except  from 
association.  I  was  packing  up  my  traveling-desk 
with  all  Harry's  little  articles  that  were  left  to  me, 
and  other  things,  and  I  was  saying  to  myself  that 
my  affairs  were  in  such  confusion  that  if  obliged  to 
run  unexpectedly  I  would  not  know  what  to  save, 
when  I  heard  Lilly's  voice  downstairs,  crying  as  she 

39 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ran  in  —  she  had  been  out  shopping  —  "  Mr.  Castle 
has  killed  a  Federal  officer  on  a  ship,  and  they  are 
going  to  shell  — "  Bang!  went  a  cannon  at  the  word, 
and  that  was  all  our  warning. 

Mother  had  just  come  in,  and  was  lying  down, 
but  sprang  to  her  feet  and  added  her  screams  to  the 
general  confusion.  Miriam,  who  had  been  searching 
the  libraries,  ran  up  to  quiet  her;  Lilly  gathered  her 
children,  crying  hysterically  all  the  time,  and  ran  to 
the  front  door  with  them  as  they  were ;  Lucy  saved 
the  baby,  naked  as  she  took  her  from  her  bath,  only 
throwing  a  quilt  over  her.  I  bethought  me  of  my 
"running-bag"  which  I  had  used  on  a  former  case, 
and  in  a  moment  my  few  precious  articles  were  se- 
cured under  my  hoops,  and  with  a  sunbonnet  on,  I 
stood  ready  for  anything. 

The  firing  still  continued ;  they  must  have  fired  half 
a  dozen  times  before  we  could  coax  mother  off.  What 
awful  screams!  I  had  hoped  never  to  hear  them 
again,  after  Harry  died.  Charlie  had  gone  to  Green- 
well  before  daybreak,  to  prepare  the  house,  so  we 
four  women,  with  all  those  children  and  servants, 
were  left  to  save  ourselves.  I  did  not  forget  my  poor 
little  Jimmy ;  I  caught  up  his  cage  and  ran  down.  Just 
at  this  moment  mother  recovered  enough  to  insist 
on  saving  father's  papers  —  which  was  impossible, 
as  she  had  not  an  idea  of  where  the  important  ones 
were.  I  heard  Miriam  plead,  argue,  insist,  command 
her  to  run;  Lilly  shriek,  and  cry  she  should  go;  the 
children  screaming  within ;  women  running  by  with- 

40 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

out,  crying  and  moaning;  but  I  could  not  join  in. 
I  was  going  I  knew  not  where;  it  was  impossible  to 
take  my  bird,  for  even  if  I  could  carry  him,  he  would 
starve.  So  I  took  him  out  of  his  cage,  kissed  his  little 
yellow  head,  and  tossed  him  up.  He  gave  one  feeble 
little  chirp  as  if  to  ascertain  where  to  go,  and  then 
for  the  first  and  last  time  I  cried,  laying  my  head 
against  the  gate-post,  and  with  my  eyes  too  dim  to 
see  him.  Oh,  how  it  hurt  me  to  lose  my  little  bird, 
one  Jimmy  had  given  me,  too! 

But  the  next  minute  we  were  all  off,  in  safety.  A 
square  from  home,  I  discovered  that  boy  shoes  were 
not  the  most  comfortable  things  to  run  in,  so  I  ran 
back,  in  spite  of  cannonading,  entreaties,  etc.,  to  get 
another  pair.  I  got  home,  found  an  old  pair  that 
were  by  no  means  respectable,  which  I  seized  with- 
out hesitation ;  and  being  perfectly  at  ease,  thought  it 
would  be  so  nice  to  save  at  least  Miriam's  and  my 
tooth-brushes,  so  slipped  them  in  my  corsets.  These 
in,  of  course  we  must  have  a  comb  —  that  was  added 
—  then  how  could  we  stand  the  sun  without  starch 
to  cool  our  faces?  This  included  the  powder-bag; 
then  I  must  save  that  beautiful  lace  collar;  and  my 
hair  was  tumbling  down,  so  in  went  the  tucking- 
comb  and  hair-pins  with  the  rest;  until,  if  there 
had  been  any  one  to  speculate,  they  would  have 
wondered  a  long  while  at  the  singular  appearance 
of  a  girl  who  is  considered  as  very  slight,  usually. 
By  this  time,  Miriam,  alarmed  for  me,  returned 
to   find   me,   though   urged  by  Dr.  Castleton  not 

4i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  risk  her  life  by  attempting  it,  and  we  started  off 
together. 

We  had  hardly  gone  a  square  when  we  decided 
to  return  a  second  time,  and  get  at  least  a  few  articles 
for  the  children  and  ourselves,  who  had  nothing 
except  what  we  happened  to  have  on  when  the  shell- 
ing commenced.  She  picked  up  any  little  things  and 
threw  them  to  me,  while  I  filled  a  pillow-case  jerked 
from  the  bed,  and  placed  my  powder  and  brushes  in 
it  with  the  rest.  Before  we  could  leave,  mother, 
alarmed  for  us  both,  came  to  find  us,  with  Tiche.1 
All  this  time  they  had  been  shelling,  but  there  was 
quite  a  lull  when  she  got  there,  and  she  commenced 
picking  up  father's  papers,  vowing  all  the  time  she 
would  not  leave.  Every  argument  we  could  use  was 
of  no  avail,  and  we  were  desperate  as  to  what  course 
to  pursue,  when  the  shelling  recommenced  in  a  few 
minutes.  Then  mother  recommenced  her  screaming 
and  was  ready  to  fly  anywhere ;  and  holding  her  box 
of  papers,  with  a  faint  idea  of  saving  something,  she 
picked  up  two  dirty  underskirts  and  an  old  cloak. 

By  dint  of  Miriam's  vehement  appeals,  aided  by 
a  great  deal  of  pulling,  we  got  her  down  to  the  back 
door.  We  had  given  our  pillow-case  to  Tiche,  who 
added  another  bundle  and  all  our  silver  to  it,  and  had 
already  departed. 

As  we  stood  in  the  door,  four  or  five  shells  sailed 
over  our  heads  at  the  same  time,  seeming  to  make  a 
perfect  corkscrew  of  the  air,  —  for  it  sounded  as 

1  Mrs.  Morgan's  negro  maid,  Catiche. 
42 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

though  it  went  in  circles.  Miriam  cried,  "Never 
mmd  the  door!"  mother  screamed  anew,  and  I 
stayed  behind  to  lock  the  door,  with  this  new  music 
in  my  ears.  We  reached  the  back  gate,  that  was  on 
the  street,  when  another  shell  passed  us,  and  Miriam 
jumped  behind  the  fence  for  protection.  We  had 
only  gone  half  a  square  when  Dr.  Castleton  begged 
us  to  take  another  street,  as  they  were  firing  up  that 
one.  We  took  his  advice,  but  found  our  new  street 
worse  than  the  old,  for  the  shells  seemed  to  whistle 
their  strange  songs  with  redoubled  vigor.  The  height 
of  my  ambition  was  now  attained.  I  had  heard 
Jimmy  laugh  about  the  singular  sensation  produced 
by  the  rifled  balls  spinning  around  one's  head ;  and 
here  I  heard  the  same  peculiar  sound,  ran  the  same 
risk,  and  was  equal  to  the  rest  of  the  boys,  for  was 
I  not  in  the  midst  of  flying  shells,  in  the  middle  of  a 
bombardment?   I  think  I  was  rather  proud  of  it. 

We  were  alone  on  the  road,  —  all  had  run  away 
before,  —  so  I  thought  it  was  for  our  especial  enter- 
tainment, this  little  affair.  I  cannot  remember  how 
long  it  lasted;  I  am  positive  that  the  clock  struck 
ten  before  I  left  home,  but  I  had  been  up  so  long,  I 
know  not  what  time  it  began,  though  I  am  told  it 
was  between  eight  and  nine.  We  passed  the  grave- 
yard, we  did  not  even  stop,  and  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  home,  when  mother  was  perfectly  ex- 
hausted with  fatigue  and  unable  to  proceed  farther, 
we  met  a  gentleman  in  a  buggy  who  kindly  took 
charge  of  her  and  our  bundles.     We  could  have 

43 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

walked  miles  beyond,  then,  for  as  soon  as  she  was 
safe  we  felt  as  though  a  load  had  been  removed  from 
our  shoulders;  and  after  exhorting  her  not  to  be 
uneasy  about  us,  and  reminding  her  we  had  a  pistol 
and  a  dagger,  —  I  had  secured  a  "for  true"  one  the 
day  before,  fortunately,  —  she  drove  off,  and  we 
trudged  on  alone,  the  only  people  in  sight  on  foot, 
though  occasionally  carriages  and  buggies  would 
pass,  going  towards  town.  One  party  of  gentlemen 
put  their  heads  out  and  one  said,  "There  are  Judge 
Morgan's  daughters  sitting  by  the  road!"  — but  I 
observed  he  did  not  offer  them  the  slightest  assist- 
ance. However,  others  were  very  kind.  One  I  never 
heard  of  had  volunteered  to  go  for  us,  and  bring  us 
to  mother,  when  she  was  uneasy  about  our  staying 
so  long,  when  we  went  home  to  get  clothes.  We  heard 
him  ring  and  knock,  but,  thinking  it  must  be  next 
door,  paid  no  attention,  so  he  went  back  and  mother 
came  herself. 

We  were  two  miles  away  when  we  sat  down  by  the 
road  to  rest,  and  have  a  laugh.  Here  were  two 
women  married,  and  able  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
flying  for  their  lives  and  leaving  two  lorn  girls  alone 
on  the  road,  to  protect  each  other!  To  be  sure, 
neither  could  help  us,  and  one  was  not  able  to  walk, 
and  the  other  had  helpless  children  to  save;  but  it 
was  so  funny  when  we  talked  about  it,  and  thought 
how  sorry  both  would  be  when  they  regained  their 
reason!  While  we  were  yet  resting,  we  saw  a  cart 
coming,  and,  giving  up  all  idea  of  our  walking  to 

44 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Greenwell,  called  the  people  to  stop.  To  our  great 
delight,  it  proved  to  be  a  cart  loaded  with  Mrs. 
Brunot's  affairs,  driven  by  two  of  her  negroes,  who 
kindly  took  us  up  with  them,  on  the  top  of  their  lug- 
gage; and  we  drove  off  in  state,  as  much  pleased  at 
riding  in  that  novel  place  as  though  we  were  accus- 
tomed to  ride  in  wheelbarrows.  Miriam  was  in  a 
hollow  between  a  flour  barrel  and  a  mattress ;  and 
I  at  the  end,  astride,  I  am  afraid,  of  a  tremendous 
bundle,  for  my  face  was  down  the  road  and  each 
foot  resting  very  near  the  sides  of  the  cart.  I  tried 
to  make  a  better  arrangement,  though,  after  a  while. 
These  servants  were  good  enough  to  lend  us  their 
umbrella,  without  which  I  am  afraid  we  would  have 
suffered  severely,  for  the  day  was  intensely  warm. 

Three  miles  from  town  we  began  to  overtake  the 
fugitives.  Hundreds  of  women  and  children  were 
walking  along,  some  bareheaded,  and  in  all  cos- 
tumes. Little  girls  of  twelve  and  fourteen  were 
wandering  on  alone.  I  called  to  one  I  knew,  and 
asked  where  her  mother  was;  she  did  n't  know;  she 
would  walk  on  until  she  found  out.  It  seems  her 
mother  lost  a  nursing  baby,  too,  which  was  not 
found  until  ten  that  night.  White  and  black  were  all 
mixed  together,  and  were  as  confidential  as  though 
related.  All  called  to  us  and  asked  where  we  were 
going,  and  many  we  knew  laughed  at  us  for  riding 
on  a  cart;  but  as  they  had  walked  only  five  miles,  I 
imagined  they  would  like  even  these  poor  accom- 
modations if  they  were  in  their  reach. 

45 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

The  negroes  deserve  the  greatest  praise  for  their 
conduct.  Hundreds  were  walking  with  babies  or 
bundles;  ask  them  what  they  had  saved,  it  was  in- 
variably, "My  mistress's  clothes,  or  silver,  or  baby." 
Ask  what  they  had  for  themselves,  it  was,  "  Bless 
your  heart,  honey,  I  was  glad  to  get  away  with  mis- 
tress's things;  I  did  n't  think  'bout  mine." 

It  was  a  heart-rending  scene.  Women  searching 
for  their  babies  along  the  road,  where  they  had  been 
lost;  others  sitting  in  the  dust  crying  and  wringing 
their  hands ;  for  by  this  time  we  had  not  an  idea  but 
what  Baton  Rouge  was  either  in  ashes,  or  being 
plundered,  and  we  had  saved  nothing.  I  had  one 
dress,  Miriam  two,  but  Tiche  had  them,  and  we  had 
lost  her  before  we  left  home. 

Presently  we  came  on  a  guerrilla  camp.  Men  and 
horses  were  resting  on  each  side  of  the  road,  some  sick, 
some  moving  about  carrying  water  to  the  women 
and  children,  and  all  looking  like  a  monster  barbecue, 
for  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see  through  the  woods,  was 
the  same  repetition  of  men  and  horses.  They  would 
ask  for  the  news,  and  one,  drunk  with  excitement  or 
whiskey,  informed  us  that  it  was  our  own  fault  if  we 

had  saved  nothing,  the  people  must  have  been 

fools  not  to  have  known  trouble  would  come  before 
long,  and  that  it  was  the  fault  of  the  men,  who  were 
aware  of  it,  that  the  women  were  thus  forced  to  fly. 
In  vain  we  pleaded  that  there  was  no  warning,  no 
means  of  foreseeing  this;  he  cried,  "  You  are  ruined; 

so  am  I;  and  my  brothers,  too!   And  by there 

46 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

is  nothing  left  but  to  die  now,  and  I'll  die ! "  "  Good ! " 
I  said.  "But  die  fighting  for  us!"  He  waved  his  hand, 
black  with  powder,  and  shouted,  "That  I  will!" 
after  us.  That  was  the  only  swearing  guerrilla  we 
met;  the  others  seemed  to  have  too  much  respect 
for  us  to  talk  loud. 

Lucy  had  met  us  before  this;  early  in  the  action, 
Lilly  had  sent  her  back  to  get  some  baby-clothes, 
but  a  shell  exploding  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  she 
took  alarm,  and  ran  up  another  road,  for  three  miles, 
when  she  cut  across  the  plantations  and  regained 
the  Green  well  route.  It  is  fortunate  that,  without 
consultation,  the  thought  of  running  here  should 

have  seized  us  all. 

May  31st. 

I  was  interrupted  so  frequently  yesterday  that  I 
know  not  how  I  continued  to  write  so  much.  First, 
I  was  sent  for,  to  go  to  Mrs.  Brunot,  who  had  just 
heard  of  her  son's  death,  and  who  was  alone  with 
Dena;  and  some  hours  after,  I  was  sent  for,  to  see 
Fanny,  now  Mrs.  Trezevant,  who  had  just  come  with 
her  husband  to  bring  us  news  of  George.  A  Mrs. 
Montgomery,  who  saw  him  every  day  at  Norfolk,  said 
Jimmy  was  with  him,  and  though  very  sick  at  first, 
was  now  in  good  health.  The  first  news  in  all  that 
long  time!  When  the  city  was  evacuated,  George 
went  with  his  regiment  seven  miles  from  Richmond, 
Jimmy  to  the  city  itself,  as  aide  to  Com.  Hollins. 
This  lady  brought  George's  opal  ring  and  diamond 
pin.  Howell  andJVTr.  Badger,  who  had  just  joined  the 

47 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

guerrillas  as  independents,  spent  the  day  with  me. 
We  were  all  in  such  confusion  that  I  felt  ashamed : 
every  one  as  dirty  as  possible ;  I  had  on  the  same  dress 
I  had  escaped  in,  which,  though  then  perfectly  clean, 
was  now  rather  —  dirty.  But  they  knew  what  a  time 
we  had  had. 

To  return  to  my  journal. 

Lucy  met  mother  some  long  way  ahead  of  us, 
whose  conscience  was  already  reproaching  her  for 
leaving  us,  and  in  answer  to  her  "What  has  become 
of  my  poor  girls?"  ran  down  the  road  to  find  us,  for 
Lucy  thinks  the  world  can't  keep  on  moving  with- 
out us.  When  she  met  us,  she  walked  by  the  cart, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  we  persuaded  her  to  ride 
a  mile;  she  said  she  felt  "used"  to  walking  now. 
About  five  miles  from  home,  we  overtook  mother. 
The  gentleman  had  been  obliged  to  go  for  his  wife,  so 
Mary  gave  her  her  seat  on  the  cart,  and  walked  with 
Lucy  three  miles  beyond,  where  we  heard  that  Lilly 
and  the  children  had  arrived  in  a  cart,  early  in  the 
day.  All  the  talk  by  the  roadside  was  of  burning 
homes,  houses  knocked  to  pieces  by  balls,  famine, 
murder,  desolation;  so  I  comforted  myself  singing, 
"  Better  days  are  coming"  and  "  I  hope  to  die  shout- 
ing, the  Lord  will  provide";  while  Lucy  toiled 
through  the  sun  and  dust,  and  answered  with  a 
chorus  of  "I'm  a-runnin',  a-runnin'  up  to  glo-ry!  " 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  we  reached  Mr.  David's 
and  found  Lilly.  How  warm  and  tired  we  were!  A 
hasty  meal,   which   tasted   like  a  feast  after  our 

48 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

fatigue,  gave  us  fresh  strength,  and  Lilly  and 
Miriam  got  in  an  old  cart  with  the  children  to  drive 
out  here,  leaving  me  with  mother  and  Dellie  to 
follow  next  day.  About  sunset,  Charlie  came  flying 
down  the  road,  on  his  way  to  town.  I  decided  to  go, 
and  after  an  obstinate  debate  with  mother,  in  which 
I  am  afraid  I  showed  more  determination  than  ami- 
ability, I  wrung  a  reluctant  consent  from  her,  and, 
promising  not  to  enter  if  it  was  being  fired  or  plun- 
dered, drove  off  in  triumph.  It  was  a  desperate  enter- 
prise for  a  young  girl,  to  enter  a  town  full  of  soldiers 
on  such  an  expedition  at  night ;  but  I  knew  Charlie 
could  take  care  of  me,  and  if  he  was  killed  I  could 
take  care  of  myself;  so  I  went. 

It  was  long  after  nine  when  we  got  there,  and  my 
first  act  was  to  look  around  the  deserted  house. 
What  a  scene  of  confusion!  armoirs  spread  open, 
with  clothes  tumbled  in  every  direction,  inside  and 
out;  ribbons,  laces  on  floors;  chairs  overturned;  my 
desk  wide  open  covered  with  letters,  trinkets,  etc. ; 
bureau  drawers  half  out,  the  bed  filled  with  odds 
and  ends  of  everything.  I  no  longer  recognized  my 
little  room.  On  the  bolster  was  a  little  box,  at  the 
sight  of  which  I  burst  out  laughing.  Five  minutes 
before  the  alarm,  Miriam  had  been  selecting  those 
articles  she  meant  to  take  to  Greenwell,  and,  holding 
up  her  box,  said,  "If  we  were  forced  to  run  for  our 
lives  without  a  moment's  warning,  I  'd  risk  my  life 
to  save  this,  rather  than  leave  it!"  Yet  here  lay  the 
box,  and  she  was  safe  at  Greenwell ! 

49 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

It  took  me  two  hours  to  pack  father's  papers,  then 
I  packed  Miriam's  trunk,  then  some  of  mother's  and 
mine,  listening  all  the  while  for  a  cannon;  for  men 
were  constantly  tramping  past  the  house,  and  only 
on  condition  our  guerrillas  did  not  disturb  them  had 
they  promised  not  to  recommence  the  shelling. 
Charlie  went  out  to  hear  the  news,  and  I  packed 
alone. 

It  seems  the  only  thing  that  saved  the  town  was 
two  gentlemen  who  rowed  out  to  the  ships,  and  in- 
formed the  illustrious  commander  that  there  were  no 
men  there  to  be  hurt,  and  he  was  only  killing  women 
and  children.  The  answer  was,  "He  was  sorry  he 
had  hurt  them;  he  thought  of  course  the  town  had 
been  evacuated  before  the  men  were  fools  enough 
to  fire  on  them,  and  had  only  shelled  the  principal 
streets  to  intimidate  the  people."  These  streets  were 
the  very  ones  crowded  with  flying  women  and  child- 
ren, which  they  must  have  seen  with  their  own  eyes, 
for  those  lying  parallel  to  the  river  led  to  the  Garrison 
at  one  end  and  the  crevasse  at  the  other,  which  cut 
off  all  the  lower  roads,  so  that  the  streets  he  shelled 
were  the  only  ones  that  the  women  could  follow,  un- 
less they  wished  to  be  drowned.  As  for  the  firing,  four 
guerrillas  were  rash  enough  to  fire  on  a  yawl  which 
was  about  to  land  without  a  flag  of  truce,  killing 
one,  wounding  three,  one  of  whom  afterwards  died. 

They  were  the  only  ones  in  town,  there  was  not  a 
cannon  in  our  hands,  even  if  a  dozen  men  could  be 
collected,  and  this  cannonading  was  kept  up  in  return 

50 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

for  half  a  dozen  shots  from  as  many  rifles,  without 
even  a  show  of  resistance  after!  So  ended  the  mo- 
mentous shelling  of  Baton  Rouge,  during  which  the 
valiant  Farragut  killed  one  whole  woman,  wounded 
three,  struck  some  twenty  houses  several  times 
apiece,  and  indirectly  caused  the  death  of  two  little 
children  who  were  drowned  in  their  flight,  one  poor 
little  baby  that  was  born  in  the  woods,  and  several 
cases  of  the  same  kind,  besides  those  who  will  yet  die 
from  the  fatigue,  as  Mrs.  W.  D.  Phillips  who  had  not 
left  her  room  since  January,  who  was  carried  out  in 
her  nightgown,  and  is  now  supposed  to  be  in  a  dying 
condition.  The  man  who  took  mother  told  us  he  had 
taken  a  dying  woman  —  in  the  act  of  expiring  —  in 
his  buggy,  from  her  bed,  and  had  left  her  a  little 
way  off,  where  she  had  probably  breathed  her  last  a 
few  moments  after.  There  were  many  similar  cases. 
Hurrah  for  the  illustrious  Farragut,  the  Woman 
Killer!  !  ! 

It  was  three  o'clock  before  I  left  off  packing,  and 
took  refuge  in  a  tub  of  cold  water,  from  the  dust  and 
heat  of  the  morning.  What  a  luxury  the  water  was! 
and  when  I  changed  my  underclothes  I  felt  like  a  new 
being.  To  be  sure  I  pulled  off  the  skin  of  my  heel 
entirely,  where  it  had  been  blistered  by  the  walk, 
dust,  sun,  etc.,  but  that  was  a  trifle,  though  still 
quite  sore  now.  For  three  hours  I  dreamed  of  rifled 
shells  and  battles,  and  at  half-past  six  I  was  up  and 
at  work  again.  Mother  came  soon  after,  and  after 
hard  work  we  got  safely  off  at  three,  saving  nothing 

5i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

but  our  clothes  and  silver.  All  else  is  gone.  It  cost 
me  a  pang  to  leave  my  guitar,  and  Miriam's  piano, 
but  it  seems  there  was  no  help  for  it,  so  I  had  to 
submit. 

It  was  dark  night  when  we  reached  here.  A  bright 
fire  was  blazing  in  front,  but  the  house  looked  so 
desolate  that  I  wanted  to  cry.  Miriam  cried  when  I 
told  her  her  piano  was  left  behind.  Supper  was  a 
new  sensation,  after  having  been  without  anything 
except  a  glass  of  clabber  (no  saucers)  and  a  piece  of 
bread  since  half-past  six.  I  laid  down  on  the  hard 
floor  to  rest  my  weary  bones,  thankful  that  I  was  so 
fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  lie  down  at  all.  In  my 
dozing  state,  I  heard  the  wagon  come,  and  Miriam 
ordering  a  mattress  to  be  put  in  the  room  for  me.  I 
could  make  out,  "Very  well!  you  may  take  that  one 
to  Miss  Eliza,1  but  the  next  one  shall  be  brought  to 
Miss  Sarah!"  Poor  Miriam!  She  is  always  fighting 
my  battles.  She  and  the  servants  are  always  taking 
my  part  against  the  rest  of  the  world.  .  .  .  She  and 
Lucy  made  a  bed  and  rolled  me  in  it  with  no  more 
questions,  and  left  me  with  damp  eyes  at  the  thought 
of  how  good  and  tender  every  one  is  to  me.  Poor 
Lucy  picked  me  a  dish  of  blackberries  to  await  my 
arrival,  and  I  was  just  as  grateful  for  it,  though  they 
were  eaten  by  some  one  else  before  I  came. 

Early  yesterday  morning,  Miriam,  Nettie,  and 
Sophie,  who  did  not  then  know  of  their  brother's 
death,  went  to  town  in  a  cart,  determined  to  save 

1  Lilly. 

52 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

some  things,  Miriam  to  save  her  piano.  As  soon  as 

they  were  halfway,  news  reached  us  that  any  one 

was  allowed  to  enter,  but  none  allowed  to  leave  the 

town,  and  all  vehicles  confiscated  as  soon  as  they 

reached  there.    Alarmed  for  their  safety,  mother 

started  off  to  find  them,  and  we  have  heard  of  none  of 

them  since.  What  will  happen  next?  I  am  not  uneasy. 

They  dare  not  harm  them.    It  is  glorious  to  shell  a, 

town  full  of  women,  but  to  kill  four  lone  ones  is  not 

exciting  enough. 

June  ist,  Sunday. 

From  the  news  brought  by  one  or  two  persons  who 
managed  to  reach  here  yesterday,  I  am  more  uneasy 
about  mother  and  the  girls.  A  gentleman  tells  me 
that  no  one  is  permitted  to  leave  without  a  pass, 
and  of  these,  only  such  as  are  separated  from  their 
families,  who  may  have  left  before.  All  families  are 
prohibited  to  leave,  and  furniture  and  other  valu- 
ables also.  Here  is  an  agreeable  arrangement!  I 
saw  the  "pass,"  just  such  as  we  give  our  negroes, 
signed  by  a  Wisconsin  colonel.  Think  of  being  obliged 
to  ask  permission  from  some  low  plowman  to  go  in  or 
out  of  our  own  house!  Cannon  are  planted  as  far 
out  as  Colonel  Davidson's,  six  of  them  at  our  grave- 
yard, and  one  or  more  on  all  the  other  roads.  If  the 
guerrillas  do  not  attempt  their  capture,  I  shall  take 
it  upon  myself  to  suggest  it  to  the  very  next  one  I 
see.  Even  if  they  cannot  use  them,  it  will  frighten 
the  Yankees,  who  are  in  a  state  of  constant  alarm 
about  them.    Their  reason  for  keeping  people  in 

53 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

town  is  that  they  hope  they  will  not  be  attacked  so 
long  as  our  own  friends  remain;  thereby  placing  us 
above  themselves  in  the  scale  of  humanity,  since 
they  acknowledge  we  are  not  brute  enough  to  kill 
women  and  children  as  they  did  not  hesitate  to  do. 

Farragut  pleads  that  he  could  not  restrain  his 
men,  they  were  so  enraged  when  the  order  was  once 
given  to  fire,  and  says  they  would  strike  a  few  houses, 
though  he  ordered  them  to  fire  solely  at  horses,  and 
the  clouds  of  dust  in  the  street,  where  guerrillas  were 
supposed  to  be.  The  dust  was  by  no  means  thick 
enough  to  conceal  that  these  "guerrillas"  were 
women,  carrying  babies  instead  of  guns,  and  the 
horses  were  drawing  buggies  in  which  many  a  sick 
woman  was  lying. 

A  young  lady  who  applied  to  the  Yankee  general 
for  a  pass  to  come  out  here,  having  doubtless  spoken 
of  the  number  of  women  here  who  had  fled,  and  the 
position  of  the  place,  was  advised  to  remain  in  town 
and  write  to  the  ladies  to  return  immediately,  and 
assure  them  that  they  would  be  respected  and  pro- 
tected, etc.,  but  that  it  was  madness  to  remain  at 
Green  well,  for  a  terrific  battle  would  be  fought  there 
in  a  few  days,  and  they  would  be  exposed  to  the 
greatest  danger.  The  girl  wrote  the  letter,  but,  Mr. 
Fox,  we  are  not  quite  such  fools  as  to  return  there 
to  afford  you  the  protection  our  petticoats  would 
secure  to  you,  thereby  preventing  you  from  receiv- 
ing condign  punishment  for  the  injuries  and  loss  of 
property  already  inflicted  upon  us  by  you.    No!  we 

54 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

remain  here;  and  if  you  are  not  laid  low  before  you 
pass  the  Comite  Bridge,  we  can  take  to  the  woods 
again,  and  camp  out,  as  many  a  poor  woman  is  doing 
now,  a  few  miles  from  town.  Many  citizens  have 
been  arrested,  and  after  being  confined  a  while,  and 
closely  questioned,  have  been  released,  if  the  in- 
formation is  satisfactory.  A  negro  man  is  informing 
on  all  cotton  burners  and  violent  Secessionists,  etc. 

Sunday  night. 
The  girls  have  just  got  back,  riding  in  a  mule 
team,  on  top  of  baggage,  but  without  either  mother 
or  any  of  our  affairs.  Our  condition  is  perfectly  des- 
perate. Miriam  had  an  interview  with  General 
Williams,  which  was  by  no  means  satisfactory.  He 
gave  her  a  pass  to  leave,  and  bring  us  back,  for  he 
says  there  is  no  safety  here  for  us ;  he  will  restrain  his 
men  in  town,  and  protect  the  women,  but  once  out- 
side, he  will  answer  neither  for  his  men,  nor  the 
women  and  children.  As  soon  as  he  gets  horses 
enough,  he  passes  this  road,  going  to  Gamp  Moore 
with  his  cavalry,  and  then  we  are  in  greater  danger 
than  ever.  Any  house  shut  up  shall  be  occupied  by 
soldiers.  Five  thousand  are  there  now,  five  more  ex- 
pected. What  shall  we  do?  Mother  remained,  send- 
ing Miriam  for  me,  determined  to  keep  us  there, 
rather  than  sacrifice  both  our  lives  and  property  by 
remaining  here.  But  then  —  two  weeks  from  now 
the  yellow  fever  will  break  out;  mother  has  the 
greatest  horror  of  it,  and  we  have  never  had  it ;  dying 

55 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

is  not  much  in  the  present  state  of  our  affairs,  but 
the  survivor  will  suffer  even  more  than  we  do  now.  If 
we  stay,  how  shall  we  live?  I  have  seventeen  hun- 
dred dollars  in  Confederate  notes  now  in  my  "run- 
ning-bag," and  three  or  four  in  silver.  The  former 
will  not  be  received  there,  the  latter  might  last  two 
days.  If  we  save  our  house  and  furniture,  it  is  at  the 
price  of  starving.  I  am  of  opinion  that  we  should 
send  for  mother,  and  with  what  money  we  have,  make 
our  way  somewhere  in  the  interior,  to  some  city 
where  we  can  communicate  with  the  boys,  and  be 
advised  by  them.  This  is  not  living.  Home  is  lost 
beyond  all  hope  of  recovery;  if  we  wait,  what  we 
have  already  saved  will  go,  too;  so  we  had  better 
leave  at  once,  with  what  clothing  we  have,  which 
will  certainly  establish  us  on  the  footing  of  ladies, 
if  we  chance  to  fall  among  vulgar  people  who  never 
look  beyond.  I  fear  the  guerrillas  will  attack  the 
town  to-night;  if  they  do,  God  help  mother! 

General  Williams  offered  Miriam  an  escort  when 
he  found  she  was  without  a  protector,  in  the  most 
fatherly  way;  he  must  be  a  good  man.  She  thanked 
him,  but  said  "she  felt  perfectly  safe  on  that  road." 
He  bit  his  lip,  understanding  the  allusion,  and  did  not 
insist.  She  was  to  deliver  a  message  from  parties  in 
town  to  the  first  guerrillas  they  met,  concerning  the 
safest  roads,  and  presently  six  met  them,  and  en- 
tered into  conversation.  She  told  them  of  the  prof- 
fered escort,  when  one  sprang  forward  crying,  "Why 
did  n't  you  accept,  Miss?    The  next  time,  ask  for 

56 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

one,  and  if  it  is  at  all  disagreeable  to  you,  /  am  the 

very  man  to  rid  you  of  such  an  inconvenience !    I  '11 

see  that  you  are  not  annoyed  long."  I  am  glad  it  was 

not  sent ;  she  would  have  reproached  herself  with 

murder  forever  after.  I  wonder  if  the  General  would 

have  risked  it? 

Baton  Rouge,  June  3d. 

Well!  Day  before  yesterday,  I  almost  vowed  I 
would  not  return,  and  last  evening  I  reached  here. 
Verily,  consistency,  thou  art  a  jewel !  I  determined 
to  get  to  town  to  lay  both  sides  of  the  question  be- 
fore mother;  saving  home  and  property,  by  remain- 
ing, thereby  cutting  ourselves  off  forever  from  the 
boys  and  dying  of  yellow  fever;  or  flying  to  Missis- 
sippi, losing  all  save  our  lives.  So  as  Mrs.  Brunot  was 
panic-stricken  and  determined  to  die  in  town  ra- 
ther than  be  starved  at  Green  well,  and  was  going  in 
on  the  same  wagon  that  came  out  the  night  before, 
I  got  up  with  her  and  Nettie,  and  left  Greenwell  at 
ten  yesterday  morning,  bringing  nothing  except  this 
old  book,  which  I  would  rather  not  lose,  as  it  has 
been  an  old  and  kind  friend  during  these  days  of 
trouble.  At  first,  I  avoided  all  mention  of  political 
affairs,  but  now  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  thought 
of;  if  it  is  not  burnt  for  treason,  I  will  like  to  look  it 
over  some  day  —  if  I  live.  I  left  Greenwell,  without 
ever  looking  around  it,  beyond  one  walk  to  the 
hotel,  so  I  may  say  I  hardly  know  what  it  looks 
like.  Miriam  stayed,  much  against  her  will,  I  fear, 
to  bring  in  our  trunks,  if  I  could  send  a  wagon. 

57 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

A  guerrilla  picket  stopped  us  before  we  had  gone 
a  mile,  and  seemed  disposed  to  turn  us  back.  We 
said  we  must  pass;  our  all  was  at  stake.  They  then 
entreated  us  not  to  enter,  saying  it  was  not  safe.  I 
asked  if  they  meant  to  burn  it;  "  We  will  help  try  it," 
was  the  answer.  I  begged  them  to  delay  the  experi- 
ment until  we  could  get  away.  One  waved  his  hat 
to  me  and  said  he  would  fight  for  me.  Hope  he 
will  —  at  a  distance.  They  asked  if  we  had  no  pro- 
tectors; "None,"  we  said.  "Don't  go,  then";  and 
they  all  looked  so  sorry  for  us.  We  said  we  must; 
starvation,  and  another  panic  awaited  us  out  there, 
our  brothers  were  fighting,  our  fathers  dead ;  we  had 
only  our  own  judgment  to  rely  on,  and  that  told  us 
home  was  the  best  place  for  us;  if  the  town  must 
burn,  let  us  burn  in  our  houses,  rather  than  be  mur- 
dered in  the  woods.  They  looked  still  more  sorry, 
but  still  begged  us  not  to  remain.  We  would,  though, 
and  one  young  boy  called  out  as  we  drove  off, 
"What's  the  name  of  that  young  lady  who  refused 
the  escort?"  I  told  him,  and  they  too  expressed  the 
greatest  regret  that  she  had  not  accepted.  We  met 
many  on  the  road,  nearly  all  of  whom  talked  to  us, 
and  as  they  were  most  respectful  in  their  manner 
(though  they  saw  us  in  a  mule  team !) ,  we  gave  them 
all  the  information  we  could,  which  was  all  news  to 
them,  though  very  little.  Such  a  ride  in  the  hot  sun, 
perched  up  in  the  air !  One  of  the  servants  remarked, 
"Miss  Sarah  ain '  t  ashamed  to  ride  in  a  wagon ! ' '  With 
truth  I  replied,  "No,  I  was  never  so  high  before." 

58 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Two  miles  from  home  we  met  the  first  Federal 
pickets,  and  then  they  grew  more  numerous,  until 
we  came  on  a  large  camp  near  our  graveyard,  filled 
with  soldiers  and  cannon.  From  first  to  last  none 
refrained  from  laughing  at  us;  not  aloud,  but  they 
would  grin  and  be  inwardly  convulsed  with  laughter 
as  we  passed.  One  laughed  so  comically  that  I 
dropped  my  veil  hastily  for  fear  he  would  see  me 
smile.  I  could  not  help  it;  if  any  one  smiled  at  me 
while  I  was  dying,  I  believe  I  would  return  it.  We 
passed  crowds,  for  it  was  now  five  o'clock,  and  all 
seemed  to  be  promenading.  There  were  several  offi- 
cers standing  at  the  corner,  near  our  house,  who 
were  very  much  amused  at  our  vehicle.  I  did  not 
feel  like  smiling  then.  After  reducing  us  to  riding  in 
a  mule  team,  they  were  heartless  enough  to  laugh! 
I  forgot  them  presently,  and  gave  my  whole  atten- 
tion to  getting  out  respectably.  Now  getting  in  a 
wagon  is  bad  enough;  but  getting  out  — !  I  hardly 
know  how  I  managed  it.  I  had  fully  three  feet  to 
step  down  before  reaching  the  wheel ;  once  there,  the 
driver  picked  me  up  and  set  me  on  the  pavement. 
The  net  I  had  gathered  my  hair  in,  fell  in  my  descent, 
and  my  hair  swept  down  halfway  between  my  knee 
and  ankle  in  one  stream.  As  I  turned  to  get  my  little 
bundle,  the  officers  had  moved  their  position  to  one 
directly  opposite  to  me,  where  they  could  examine 
me  at  leisure.  Queens  used  to  ride  drawn  by  oxen 
hundreds  of  years  ago,  so  I  played  this  was  old  times, 
the  mules  were  oxen,  I  a  queen,  and  stalked  off  in  a 

59 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

style  I  am  satisfied  would  have  imposed  on  June 
herself.  When  I  saw  them  as  I  turned,  they  were 
perfectly  quiet;  but  Nettie  says  up  to  that  moment 
they  had  been  in  convulsions  of  laughter,  with  their 
handkerchiefs  to  their  faces.   It  was  not  polite ! 

I  found  mother  safe,  but  the  house  was  in  the  most 
horrible  confusion.  Jimmy's  empty  cage  stood  by 
the  door;  it  had  the  same  effect  on  me  that  empty 
coffins  produce  on  others.  Oh,  my  birdie!  At  six,  I 
could  no  longer  stand  my  hunger.  I  had  fasted  for 
twelve  hours,  with  the  exception  of  a  mouthful  of  hoe- 
cake  at  eleven ;  I  that  never  fasted  in  my  life !  —  ex- 
cept last  Ash  Wednesday  when  Lydia  and  I  tried  it 
for  breakfast,  and  got  so  sick  we  were  glad  to  atone 
for  it  at  dinner.  So  I  got  a  little  piece  of  bread  and 
corn  beef  from  Mrs.  Daigre's  servant,  for  there  was 
not  a  morsel  here,  and  I  did  not  know  where  or  what 
to  buy.  Presently  some  kind  friend  sent  me  a  great 
short-cake,  a  dish  of  strawberry  preserves,  and  some 
butter,  which  I  was  grateful  for,  for  the  fact  that 
the  old  negro  was  giving  me  part  of  her  supper  made 
me  rather  sparing,  though  she  cried,  "Eat  it  all, 
honey!   I  get  plenty  more!" 

Mother  went  to  Cousin  Will's,  and  I  went  to  Mrs. 
Brunot's  to  sleep,  and  so  ended  my  first  day's  ride 
on  a  mule  team.  Bah !  A  lady  can  make  anything 
respectable  by  the  way  she  does  it !  What  do  I  care 
if  I  had  been  driving  mules?  Better  that  than  walk 
seventeen  miles. 

I  met  Dr.  DuChene  and  Dr.  Castleton  twice  each, 
60 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

this  morning.  They  were  as  kind  to  me  as  they 
were  to  the  girls  the  other  day.  The  latter  saved 
them  a  disagreeable  visit,  while  here.  He  and  those 
three  were  packing  some  things  in  the  hall,  when 
two  officers  passed,  and  prepared  to  come  in,  seeing 
three  good-looking  girls  seemingly  alone,  for  Mir- 
iam's dress  hid  Dr.  Castleton  as  he  leaned  over  the 
box.  Just  then  she  moved,  the  Doctor  raised  his 
head,  and  the  officers  started  back  with  an  "Ah!" 
of  surprise.  The  Doctor  called  them  as  they  turned 
away,  and  asked  for  a  pass  for  the  young  ladies. 
They  came  back  bowing  and  smiling,  said  they  would 
write  one  in  the  house,  but  they  were  told  very 
dryly  that  there  were  no  writing  accommodations 
there.  They  tried  the  fascinating,  and  were  much 
mortified  by  the  coldness  they  met.  Dear  me! 
"Why  wasn't  I  born  old  and  ugly?"  Suppose  I 
should  unconsciously  entrap  some  magnificent  Yan- 
kee !  What  an  awful  thing  it  would  be !  ! 

Sentinels  are  stationed  at  every  corner;  Dr. 
Castleton  piloted  me  safely  through  one  expedition ; 
but  on  the  next,  we  had  to  part  company,  and  I 
passed  through  a  crowd  of  at  least  fifty,  alone.  They 
were  playing  cards  in  the  ditch,  and  swearing  dread- 
fully, these  pious  Yankees;  many  were  marching 
up  and  down,  some  sleeping  on  the  pavement,  others 
■ —  picking  odious  bugs  out  of  each  other's  heads !  I 
thought  of  the  guerrillas,  yellow  fever,  and  all,  and 
wished  they  were  all  safe  at  home  with  their  mo- 
thers and  sisters,  and  we  at  peace  again. 

61 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

What  a  day  I  have  had !  Here  mother  and  I  are 
alone,  not  a  servant  on  the  lot.  We  will  sleep  here 
to-night,  and  I  know  she  will  be  too  nervous  to  let 
me  sleep.  The  dirt  and  confusion  were  extraordinary 
in  the  house.  I  could  not  stand  it,  so  I  applied  my- 
self to  making  it  better.  I  actually  swept  two  whole 
rooms !  I  ruined  my  hands  at  gardening,  so  it  made 
no  difference.  I  replaced  piles  of  books,  crockery, 
china,  that  Miriam  had  left  packed  for  Greenwell; 
I  discovered  I  could  empty  a  dirty  hearth,  dust, 
move  heavy  weights,  make  myself  generally  useful 
and  dirty,  and  all  this  is  thanks  to  the  Yankees! 
Poor  me!  This  time  last  year  I  thought  I  would 
never  walk  again !  If  I  am  not  laid  up  forever  after 
the  fatigue  of  this  last  week,  I  shall  always  main- 
tain I  have  a  Constitution.  But  it  all  seems  nothing 
in  this  confusion;  everything  is  almost  as  bad  as 
ever.  Besides  that,  I  have  been  flying  around  to  get 
Miriam  a  wagon.  I  know  she  is  half  distracted  at 
being  there  alone.  Mother  chose  staying  with  all 
its  evils.  Charlie's  life  would  pay  the  penalty  of  a 
cotton  burner  if  he  returned,  so  Lilly  remains  at 
Greenwell  with  him.  We  three  will  get  on  as  best 
we  can  here.  I  wrote  to  the  country  to  get  a  wagon, 
sent  a  pass  from  Headquarters,  but  I  will  never  know 
if  it  reached  her  until  I  see  her  in  town.  I  hope  it  will ; 
I  would  be  better  satisfied  with  Miriam. 

June  4th. 

Miriam  and  Mattie  drove  in,  in  the  little  buggy, 
last   evening  after  sunset,    to   find   out  what  we 

62 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

were  to  do.  Our  condition  is  desperate.  Beauregard 
is  about  attacking  these  Federals.  They  say  he  is 
coming  from  Corinth,  and  the  fight  will  be  in  town. 
If  true,  we  are  lost  again.  Starvation  at  Green  well, 
fever  and  bullets  here,  will  put  an  end  to  us  soon 
enough.  There  is  no  refuge  for  us,  no  one  to  consult. 
Brother,  whose  judgment  we  rely  on  as  implicitly 
as  we  did  on  father's,  we  hear  has  gone  to  New  York ; 
there  is  no  one  to  advise  or  direct  us,  for,  if  he  is  gone, 
there  is  no  man  in  Louisiana  whose  decision  I  would 
blindly  abide  by.  Let  us  stay  and  die.  We  can  only 
die  once ;  we  can  suffer  a  thousand  deaths  with  sus- 
pense and  uncertainty ;  the  shortest  is  the  best.  Do 
you  think  the  few  words  here  can  give  an  idea  of  our 
agony  and  despair?  Nothing  can  express  it.  I  feel 
a  thousand  years  old  to-day.  I  have  shed  the  bitter- 
est tears  to-day  that  I  have  shed  since  father  died. 
I  can't  stand  it  much  longer;  I  '11  give  way  presently, 
and  I  know  my  heart  will  break.  Shame !  Where  is 
God?  A  fig  for  your  religion,  if  it  only  lasts  while 
the  sun  shines!  "Better  days  are  coming"  —  I 
can't! 

Troops  are  constantly  passing  and  repassing. 
They  have  scoured  the  country  for  ten  miles  out, 
in  search  of  guerrillas.  We  are  here  without  servants, 
clothing,  or  the  bare  necessaries  of  life :  suppose  they 
should  seize  them  on  the  way !  I  procured  a  pass  for 
the  wagon,  but  it  now  seems  doubtful  if  I  can  get 
the  latter  —  a  very  faint  chance.  Well !  let  them  go ; 
our  home  next;  then  we  can  die  sure  enough.   With 

63 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

God's  help,  I  can  stand  anything  yet  in  store  for  me. 
"I  hope  to  die  shouting,  the  Lord  will  provide!" 
Poor  Lavinia !  if  she  could  only  see  us !  I  am  glad  she 
does  not  know  our  condition. 

5  p.m. 

What  a  day  of  agony,  doubt,  uncertainty,  and 
despair !  Heaven  save  me  from  another  such !  Every 
hour  fresh  difficulties  arose,  until  I  believe  we  were 
almost  crazy,  every  one  of  us. 

As  Miriam  was  about  stepping  in  the  buggy,  to  go 
to  Greenwell  to  bring  in  our  trunks,  mother's  heart 
misgave  her,  and  she  decided  to  sacrifice  her  property 
rather  than  remain  in  this  state  any  longer.  After 
a  desperate  discussion  which  proved  that  each  argu- 
ment was  death,  she  decided  to  go  back  to  Green- 
well  and  give  up  the  keys  of  the  house  to  General 
Williams,  and  let  him  do  as  he  pleased,  rather  than 
have  it  broken  open  during  her  absence.  Mattie  and 
Mr.  Tunnard  were  present  at  the  discussion,  which 
ended  by  the  latter  stepping  in  the  buggy  and  driv- 
ing Miriam  to  the  Garrison.  General  Williams  called 
her  by  name,  and  asked  her  about  Major  Drum.  It 
seems  all  these  people,  native  and  foreign,  know  us, 
while  we  know  none.  Miriam  told  him  our  condi- 
tion, how  our  brothers  were  away,  father  dead,  and 
mother  afraid  to  remain,  yet  unwilling  to  lose  her 
property  by  going  away;  how  we  three  were  alone 
and  unprotected  here,  but  would  remain  rather  than 
have  our  home  confiscated.  He  assured  her  the  house 
should  not  be  touched,  that  it  would  be  respected 

64 


MIRIAM    MORGAN 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

in  our  absence  as  though  we  were  in  it,  and  he  would 
place  a  sentinel  at  the  door  to  guard  it  against  his 
own  men  who  might  be  disposed  to  enter.  The  latter 
she  declined,  but  he  said  he  would  send  his  aide  to 
mark  the  house,  that  it  might  be  known.  A  moment 
after  they  got  back,  the  aide,  Mr.  Biddle  (I  have  his 
name  to  so  many  passes  that  I  know  it  now),  came 
to  the  door.  Mr.  Tunnard  left  him  there,  uncertain 
how  we  would  receive  a  Christian,  and  I  went  out 
and  asked  him  in.  He  looked  uncertain  of  his  recep- 
tion, too,  when  we  put  an  end  to  his  doubt  by  treat- 
ing him  as  we  invariably  treat  gentlemen  who  appear 
such.  He  behaved  remarkably  well  under  the  try- 
ing circumstances,  and  insisted  on  a  sentinel;  for, 
he  said,  though  they  would  respect  the  property, 
there  were  many  bad  characters  among  the  soldiers 
who  might  attempt  to  rob  it,  and  the  sentinel  would 
protect  it.  After  a  visit  of  ten  minutes,  devoted  ex- 
clusively to  the  affair,  he  arose  and  took  his  leave, 
leaving  me  under  the  impression  that  he  was  a  gen- 
tleman wherever  he  came  from,  even  if  there  were 
a  few  grammatical  errors  in  the  pass  he  wrote  me 
yesterday;  but  "thou  that  judgest  another,  dost 
thou  sin?" 

Well,  now  we  say,  fly  to  Greenwell.  Yes!  and  by 
to-night,  a  most  exaggerated  account  of  the  whole 
affair  will  be  spread  over  the  whole  country,  and  we 
will  be  equally  suspected  by  our  own  people.  Those 
who  spread  useless  falsehoods  about  us  will  gladly 
have  a  foundation  for  a  monstrous  one.     Did  n't 

65 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Camp  Moore  ring  with  the  story  of  our  entertaining 
the  Federal  officers?  Did  n't  they  spread  the  report 
that  Miriam  danced  with  one  to  the  tune  of  "Yan- 
kee Doodle"  in  the  State  House  garden?  What  will 
they  stop  at  now?  O!  if  I  was  only  a  man,  and  knew 
what  to  do ! 

Night. 

We  were  so  distressed  by  the  false  position  in 
which  we  would  be  placed  by  a  Federal  sentinel, 
that  we  did  not  know  what  course  to  pursue.  As  all 
our  friends  shook  their  heads  and  said  it  was  danger- 
ous, we  knew  full  well  what  our  enemies  would  say. 
If  we  win  Baton  Rouge,  as  I  pray  we  will,  they  will 
say  we  asked  protection  from  Yankees  against  our 
own  men,  are  consequently  traitors,  and  our  prop- 
erty will  be  confiscated  by  our  own  Government. 
To  decline  General  Williams's  kind  offer  exposes  the 
house  to  being  plundered.  In  our  dilemma,  we  made 
up  our  minds  to  stay,  so  we  could  say  the  sentinel 
was  unnecessary. 

Presently  a  file  of  six  soldiers  marched  to  the  gate, 
an  officer  came  to  the  steps  and  introduced  himself  as 
Colonel  McMillan,  of  21st  Indiana  Volunteers.  He 
asked  if  this  was  Mrs.  Morgan's;  the  General  had 
ordered  a  guard  placed  around  the  house ;  he  would 
suggest  placing  them  in  different  parts  of  the  yard. 
"Madam,  the  pickets  await  your  orders."  Miriam 
in  a  desperate  fright  undertook  to  speak  for  mother, 
and  asked  if  he  thought  there  was  any  necessity. 
No,  but  it  was  an  additional    security,   he  said. 

66 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

"Then,  if  no  actual  necessity,  we  will  relieve  you  of 
the  disagreeable  duty,  as  we  expect  to  remain  in 
town,"  she  said.  He  was  very  kind,  and  discussed  the 
whole  affair  with  us,  saying  when  we  made  up  our 
minds  to  leave,  —  we  told  him  after  we  could  not 
decide,  — to  write  him  word,  and  he  would  place 
a  guard  around  to  prevent  his  men  and  the  negroes 
from  breaking  in.  It  was  a  singular  situation:  our 
brothers  off  fighting  them,  while  these  Federal  officers 
leaned  over  our  fence,  and  an  officer  standing  on  our 
steps  offered  to  protect  us.  These  people  are  cer- 
tainly very  kind  to  us.  General  Williams  especially 
must  be  a  dear  old  gentleman;  he  is  so  good. 

How  many  good,  and  how  many  mean  people 
these  troubles  have  shown  us!  I  am  beginning  to 
see  my  true  friends,  now ;  there  is  a  large  number  of 
them,  too.  Everybody  from  whom  we  least  expected 
attention  has  agreeably  surprised  us.  .  .  . 

General  Williams  will  believe  we  are  insane  from 

our  changing  so  often. 

His  guard  positively  refused. 

June  5th. 

Last  night  I  determined  to  stay.  Miriam  went 
after  our  trunks  at  daylight.  A  few  hours  after, 
Lilly  wrote  we  must  go  back.  McClellan's  army 
was  cut  to  pieces  and  driven  back  to  Maryland, 
by  Jackson;  the  Federals  were  being  driven  into 
the  swamp  from  Richmond,  too.  Beauregard  is  un- 
doubtedly coming  to  attack  Baton  Rouge;  his  fire 
would  burn  the  town,  if  the  gunboats  do  not;  the 

67 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Yankees  will  shell,  at  all  events,  if  forced  to  retire. 
It  cannot  stand.  We  can't  go  to  New  Orleans.  Butler 
says  he  will  lay  it  in  ashes  if  he  is  forced  to  evacuate 
it,  from  yellow  fever  or  other  causes.  Both  must  be 
burned.  Green  well  is  not  worth  the  powder  it  would 
cost,  so  we  must  stand  the  chance  of  murder  and 
starvation  there,  rather  than  the  certainty  of  being 
placed  between  two  fires  here.  Well,  I  see  nothing 
but  bloodshed  and  beggary  staring  us  in  the  face. 
Let  it  come.  "I  hope  to  die  shouting,  the  Lord 
will  provide." 

June  6th. 

We  dined  at  Mrs.  Brunot's  yesterday,  and  sitting 
on  the  gallery  later,  had  the  full  benefit  of  a  Yankee 
drill.  They  stopped  in  front  of  the  house  and  went 
through  some  very  curious  manoeuvres,  and  then 
marched  out  to  their  drill-ground  beyond.  In  re- 
turning, the  whole  regiment  drew  up  directly  before 
us,  and  we  were  dreadfully  quiet  for  five  minutes, 
the  most  uncomfortable  I  have  experienced  for  some 
time.  For  it  was  absurd  to  look  at  the  sky,  and  I 
looked  in  vain  for  one  man  with  downcast  eyes 
whereon  I  might  rest  mine;  but  from  the  officers 
down  to  the  last  private,  they  were  all  looking  at  us. 
I  believe  I  would  have  cried  with  embarrassment  if 
the  command  had  not  been  given  at  that  moment. 
They  drilled  splendidly,  and  knew  it,  too,  so  went 
through  it  as  though  they  had  not  been  at  it  for  an 
hour  before.  One  conceited,  red-headed  lieutenant 
smiled  at  us  in  the  most  fascinating  way;  perhaps  he 

68 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

smiled  to  think  how  fine  he  was,  and  what  an  impres- 
sion he  was  making. 

We  got  back  to  our  solitary  house  before  twilight, 
and  were  sitting  on  the  balcony,  when  Mr.  Biddle 
entered.  He  came  to  ask  if  the  guard  had  been 
placed  here  last  night.  It  seems  to  me  it  would  have 
saved  him  such  a  long  walk  if  he  had  asked  Colonel 
McMillan.  He  sat  down,  though,  and  got  talking  in 
the  moonlight,  and  people  passing,  some  citizens, 
some  officers,  looked  wonderingly  at  this  unheard-of 
occurrence.  I  won't  be  rude  to  any  one  in  my  own 
house,  Yankee  or  Southern,  say  what  they  will.  He 
talked  a  great  deal,  and  was  very  entertaining;  what 
tempted  him,  I  cannot  imagine.  It  was  two  hours 
before  he  thought  of  leaving.  He  was  certainly  very 
kind.  He  spoke  of  the  scarcity  of  flour  in  town ;  said 
they  had  quantities  at  the  Garrison ,  and  asked  permis- 
sion to  send  us  a  barrel,  which  of  course  we  refused. 
It  showed  a  very  good  heart,  though.  He  offered  to 
take  charge  of  any  letters  I  would  write ;  said  he  had 
heard  General  Williams  speak  of  Harry ;  and  when  he 
at  last  left,  I  was  still  more  pleased  with  him  for 
this  kindness  to  us.  He  says  Captain  Huger  is  dead. 
I  am  very,  very  much  distressed.  They  are  related, 
he  says.  He  talked  so  reasonably  of  the  war,  that  it 
was  quite  a  novelty  after  reading  the  abusive  news- 
papers of  both  sides.  I  like  him,  and  was  sorry  I  could 
not  ask  him  to  repeat  his  visit.  We  are  unaccustomed 
to  treat  gentlemen  that  way;  but  it  won't  do  in  the 
present  state  to  act  as  we  please.    Mob  governs. 

69 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Mother  kept  me  awake  all  night  to  listen  to  the 
mice  in  the  garret.  Every  time  I  would  doze  she 
would  ask,  "What's  that?"  and  insist  that  the  mice 
were  men.  I  had  to  get  up  and  look  for  an  imaginary 
host,  so  I  am  tired  enough  this  morning. 

Miriam  has  just  got  in  with  all  the  servants,  our 
baggage  is  on  the  way,  so  we  will  be  obliged  to  stay 
whether  we  will  or  no.  I  don't  care ;  it  is  all  the  same, 
starve  or  burn.  Oh!  I  forgot.  Mr.  Biddle  did  not 
write  that  pass!  It  was  his  clerk.  He  speaks  very 
grammatically,  so  far  as  I  can  judge!  ! 

June  8th,  Sunday. 
These  people  mean  to  kill  us  with  kindness. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  kind.  Yesterday 
General  Williams  sent  a  barrel  of  flour  to  mother, 
accompanied  by  a  note  begging  her  to  accept  it 
"  in  consideration  of  the  present  condition  of  the  cir- 
culating currency,"  and  the  intention  was  so  kind, 
the  way  it  was  done  so  delicate,  that  there  was  no 
refusing  it.  I  had  to  write  her  thanks,  and  got  in  a 
violent  fit  of  the  "trembles"  at  the  idea  of  writing 
to  a  stranger.  One  consolation  is,  that  I  am  not  a 
very  big  fool,  for  it  took  only  three  lines  to  prove 
myself  one.  If  I  had  been  a  thundering  big  one,  I 
would  have  occupied  two  pages  to  show  myself  fully. 
And  to  think  it  is  out  of  our  power  to  prove  them 
our  appreciation  of  the  kindness  we  have  universally 
met  with !  Many  officers  were  in  church  this  morning, 
and  as  they  passed  us  while  we  waited  for  the  door 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  be  opened,  General  Williams  bowed  profoundly, 
another  followed  his  example;  we  returned  the  sa- 
lute, of  course.  But  by  to-morrow,  those  he  did  not 
bow  to  will  cry  treason  against  us.  Let  them  howl. 
I  am  tired  of  lies,  scandal,  and  deceit.  All  the  loudest 
gossips  have  been  frightened  into  the  country,  but 
enough  remain  to  keep  them  well  supplied  with  town 
talk.  ...  It  is  such  a  consolation  to  turn  to  the  dear 
good  people  of  the  world  after  coming  in  contact 
with  such  cattle.  Here,  for  instance,  is  Mr.  Bonne- 
case  on  whom  we  have  not  the  slightest  claims. 
Every  day  since  we  have  been  here,  he  has  sent  a 
great  pitcher  of  milk,  knowing  our  cow  is  out;  one 
day  he  sent  rice,  the  next  sardines,  yesterday  two 
bottles  of  Port  and  Madeira,  which  cannot  be  pur- 
chased in  the  whole  South.   What  a  duck  of  an  old 

man!   That  is  only  one  instance. 

June  ioth. 

This  morning  while  I  was  attending  to  my  flowers 
.  .  .  several  soldiers  stopped  in  front  of  me,  and 
holding  on  the  fence,  commenced  to  talk  about  some 
brave  Colonel,  and  a  shooting  affair  last  night.  When 
all  had  gone  except  one  who  was  watching  me  at- 
tentively, as  he  seemed  to  wish  to  tell  me,  I  let  him 
go  ahead.  The  story  was  that  Colonel  McMillan 
was  shot  through  the  shoulder,  breast,  and  liver, 
by  three  guerrillas  while  four  miles  from  town  last 
night,  on  a  scout.  He  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  his 
own  men  at  the  time,  killed  one  who  shot  him,  took 
the  other  two  prisoners,  and  fell  from  his  horse  him- 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

self,  when  he  got  within  the  lines.  The  soldier  said 
these  two  guerrillas  would  probably  be  hanged,  while 
the  six  we  saw  pass  captives,  Sunday,  would  prob- 
ably be  sent  to  Fort  Jackson  for  life.  I  think  the 
guerrilla  affair  mere  murder,  I  confess;  but  what  a 
dreadful  fate  for  these  young  men !  One  who  passed 
Sunday  was  Jimmy's  schoolmate,  a  boy  of  sixteen; 
another,  Willie  Garig,  the  pet  of  a  whole  family  of 
good,  honest  country  people.  .  .  . 

These  soldiers  will  get  in  the  habit  of  talking  to 
me  after  a  while,  through  my  own  fault.  Yesterday 
I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  ask  the  fate  of 
the  six  guerrillas,  and  stopped  two  volunteers  who 
were  going  by,  to  ask  them.  They  discussed  the  fate 
of  the  country,  told  me  Fort  Pillow  and  Vicksburg 
were  evacuated,  the  Mississippi  opened  from  source 
to  mouth;  I  told  them  of  Banks's  and  McClellan's 
defeat;  they  assured  me  it  would  all  be  over  in  a 
month,  —  which  I  fervently  pray  may  be  so;  told 
me  they  were  from  Michigan  (one  was  Mr.  Bee,  he 
said,  cousin  of  our  General);  and  they  would  prob- 
ably have  talked  all  day  if  I  had  not  bowed  myself 
away  with  thanks  for  their  information. 

It  made  me  ashamed  to  contrast  the  quiet,  gentle- 
manly, liberal  way  these  volunteers  spoke  of  us  and 
our  cause,  with  the  rabid,  fanatical,  abusive  violence 
of  our  own  female  Secession  declaimers.  Thank 
Heaven,  I  have  never  yet  made  my  appearance  as  a 
Billingsgate  orator  on  these  occasions.  All  my  vio- 
lent feelings,  which  in  moments  of  intense  excitement 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

were  really  violent,  I  have  recorded  in  this  book;  I 
am  happy  to  say  only  the  reasonable  dislike  to  seeing 
my  country  subjugated  has  been  confided  to  the 
public  ear,  when  necessary;  and  that  even  now,  I 
confess  that  nothing  but  the  reign  of  terror  and  gross 
prejudice  by  which  I  was  surrounded  at  that  time 
could  justify  many  expressions  I  have  here  applied 
to  them.  Fact  is,  these  people  have  disarmed  me  by 
their  kindness.  I  expected  to  be  in  a  crowd  of  ruf- 
fian soldiers,  who  would  think  nothing  of  cutting 
your  throat  or  doing  anything  they  felt  like;  and  I 
find,  among  all  these  thousands,  not  one  who  offers 
the  slightest  annoyance  or  disrespect.  The  former  is 
the  thing  as  it  is  believed  by  the  whole  country,  the 
latter  the  true  state  of  affairs.  I  admire  foes  who 
show  so  much  consideration  for  our  feelings. 

Contrast  these  with  our  volunteers  from  New  Or- 
leans —  all  gentlemen  —  who  came  to  take  the  Gar- 
rison from  Major  Haskins.  Several  of  them  passing 
our  gate  where  we  were  standing  with  the  Brunots, 
one  exclaimed,  "What  pretty  girls!"  It  was  a  stage 
aside  that  we  were  supposed  not  to  hear.  "Yes," 
said  another;  "beautiful!  but  they  look  as  though 
they  could  be  fast."  Fast!  and  we  were  not  even 
speaking!  not  even  looking  at  them!  Sophie  and  I 
were  walking  presently,  and  met  half  a  dozen.  We 
had  to  stop  to  let  them  pass  the  crossing;  they  did 
not  think  of  making  way  for  us;  No.  I  sighed  — 
such  a  sigh!  No.  2  followed,  and  so  on,  when  they 
all  sighed  in  chorus  for  our  edification,  while  we 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

dared  not  raise  our  eyes  from  the  ground.  That  is 
the  time  I  would  have  made  use  of  a  dagger.  Two 
passed  in  a  buggy,  and  trusting  to  our  not  recog- 
nizing them  from  the  rapidity  of  their  vehicle,  kissed 
their  hands  to  us  until  they  were  out  of  sight!  All 
went  back  to  New  Orleans  vowing  Baton  Rouge  had 
the  prettiest  girls  in  the  world.  These  were  our  own 
people,  the  elite  of  New  Orleans,  loyal  Southerners 
and  gentlemen.  These  Northerners  pass  us  satisfied 
with  a  simple  glance;  some  take  off  their  hats,  for  all 
these  officers  know  our  name,  though  we  may  not 
know  theirs;  how,  I  can't  say. 

When  I  heard  of  Colonel  McMillan's  misfortune, 
mother  conspired  with  me  to  send  over  some  band- 
ages, and  something  Tiche  manufactured  of  flour 
under  the  name  of  "nourishment,"  for  he  is  across 
the  street  at  Heroman's.  Miriam  objected  on  ac- 
count of  what  "our  people"  will  say,  and  what  we 
will  suffer  for  it  if  the  guerrillas  reach  town,  but  we 
persuaded  her  we  were  right.  .  .  .  You  can  imagine 
our  condition  at  present,  many  years  hence,  Sarah, 
when  you  reflect  that  it  is  the  brave,  noble-hearted, 
generous  Miriam  who  is  afraid  to  do  that  deed  on  ac- 
count of  "public  opinion,"  which  indeed  is  "down" 
on  us.  At  Greenwell  they  are  frantic  about  our  re- 
turning to  town,  and  call  us  traitors,  Yankees,  and 
vow  vengeance.  ...  A  lady  said  to  me,  "The  guer- 
rillas have  a  black  list  containing  the  names  of  those 
remaining  in  town.  All  the  men  are  to  be  hanged, 
their  houses  burned,  and  all  the  women  are  to  be 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tarred  and  feathered."  I  said,  "  Madam,  if  I  believed 
them  capable  of  such  a  vile  threat,  even,  much  less 
the  execution,  I  would  see  them  cut  down  without  a 
feeling  of  compassion"  (which  is  not  true),  "and 
swear  I  was  a  Yankee  rather  than  claim  being  a 
native  of  the  same  country  with  such  brutes."  She 
has  a  long  tongue ;  when  I  next  hear  of  it,  it  will  be 
that  /  told  the  story,  and  called  them  brutes  and 
hoped  they  would  be  shot,  etc.  And  so  goes  the 
world.  No  one  will  think  of  saying  that  I  did  not 
believe  them  guilty  of  the  thought,  even.  Our  three 
brothers  may  be  sick  or  wounded  at  this  minute; 
what  I  do  for  this  man,  God  will  send  some  one  to 
do  for  them,  and  with  that  belief  I  do  it.  .  .  . 

June  nth. 
Last  evening  mother  and  Miriam  went  to  the 
Arsenal  to  see  if  they  would  be  allowed  to  do  any- 
thing for  the  prisoners.  General  Williams  received 
them,  and  fascinated  Miriam  by  his  manner,  as 
usual.  Poor  Miriam  is  always  being  fascinated,  ac- 
cording to  her  own  account.  He  sent  for  little  Nathan 
Castle  and  Willie  Garig,  and  left  them  alone  in  the 
room  with  them,  showing  his  confidence  and  delicacy 
by  walking  away.  The  poor  young  men  were  very 
grateful  to  be  remembered ;  one  had  his  eyes  too  full 
of  tears  to  speak.  Mr.  Garig  told  Miriam  that  when 
the  story  of  her  refusing  the  escort  was  told  in  camp, 
the  woods  rang  with  shouts  of  "Three  cheers  for 
Miss  Morgan!"    They  said  they  were  treated  very 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

well,  and  had  no  want,  except  clean  clothes,  and  to 
let  their  mothers  know  they  were  well  and  content. 
I  have  been  hard  at  work  mending  three  or  four 
suits  of  the  boys'  clothing  for  those  poor  young  men. 
Some  needed  thread  and  needle  very  much,  but  it 
was  the  best  we  could  do.  So  I  packed  them  all  up 
—  not  forgetting  a  row  of  pins  —  and  sent  Tiche  off 
with  the  bundle,  perched  real  Congo  fashion  on  her 
many-colored  head-handkerchief,  which  was  tied  in 
the  most  superb  Creole  style  in  honor  of  the  occa- 
sion. 

June  1 6th,  Monday. 

My  poor  old  diary  comes  to  a  very  abrupt  end,  to 
my  great  distress.  The  hardest  thing  in  the  world  is 
to  break  off  journalizing  when  you  are  once  accus- 
tomed to  it,  and  mine  has  proved  such  a  resource  to 
me  in  these  dark  days  of  trouble  that  I  feel  as  though 
I  were  saying  good-bye  to  an  old  and  tried  friend. 
Thanks  to  my  liberal  supply  of  pens,  ink,  and  paper, 
how  many  inexpressibly  dreary  days  I  have  filled 
up  to  my  own  satisfaction,  if  not  to  that  of  others! 
How  many  disagreeable  affairs  it  has  caused  me  to 
pass  over  without  another  thought,  how  many  times 
it  has  proved  a  relief  to  me  where  my  tongue  was 
forced  to  remain  quiet!  Without  the  blessed  mate- 
rials, I  would  have  fallen  victim  to  despair  and  "the 
Blues"  long  since;  but  they  have  kept  my  eyes  fixed 
on  "Better  days  a-coming"  while  slightly  alluding 
to  present  woes ;  kept  me  from  making  a  fool  of  my- 
self many  a  day ;  acted  as  lightning  rod  to  my  mental 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

thunder,  and  have  made  me  happy  generally.  For 
all  of  which  I  cry,  "  Vivent  pen,  ink,  and  paper ! "  and 
add  with  regret,  "Adieu,  my  mental  Conductor.  I 
fear  this  unchained  lightning  will  strike  somewhere, 
in  your  absence!" 


BOOK   II 

"I  hope  to  die  shouting,  the  Lord  will  provide!" 

Monday,  June  16th,  1862. 
There  is  no  use  in  trying  to  break  off  journalizing, 
particularly  in  "these  trying  times."  It  has  become 
a  necessity  to  me.  I  believe  I  should  go  off  in  a  rapid 
decline  if  Butler  took  it  in  his  head  to  prohibit  that 
among  other  things.  ...  I  reserve  to  myself  the 
privilege  of  writing  my  opinions,  since  I  trouble  no 
one  with  the  expression  of  them.  ...  I  insist,  that  if 
the  valor  and  chivalry  of  our  men  cannot  save  our 
country,  I  would  rather  have  it  conquered  by  a  brave 
race  than  owe  its  liberty  to  the  Billingsgate  oratory 
and  demonstrations  of  some  of  these  ' '  ladies. ' '  I f  the 
women  have  the  upper  hand  then,  as  they  have  now, 
I  would  not  like  to  live  in  a  country  governed  by 
such  tongues.  Do  I  consider  the  female  who  could 
spit  in  a  gentleman's  face,  merely  because  he  wore 
United  States  buttons,  as  a  fit  associate  for  me? 
Lieutenant  Biddle  assured  me  he  did  not  pass  a  street 
in  New  Orleans  without  being  most  grossly  insulted 
by  ladies.  It  was  a  friend  of  his  into  whose  face  a 
lady  spit  as  he  walked  quietly  by  without  looking  at 
her.  (Wonder  if  she  did  it  to  attract  his  attention?) 
He  had  the  sense  to  apply  to  her  husband  and  give 
him  two  minutes  to  apologize  or  die,  and  of  course  he 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

chose  the  former.1  Such  things  are  enough  to  disgust 
any  one.  "Loud"  women,  what  a  contempt  I  have 
for  you !   How  I  despise  your  vulgarity ! 

Some  of  these  Ultra-Secessionists,  evidently  very 
recently  from  "down  East,"  who  think  themselves 
obliged  to  "kick  up  their  heels  over  the  Bonny  Blue 
Flag,"  as  Brother  describes  female  patriotism,  shriek 
out,  "What!  see  those  vile  Northerners  pass  pa- 
tiently! No  true  Southerner  could  see  it  without 
rage.  I  could  kill  them!  I  hate  them  with  all  my 
soul,  the  murderers,  liars,  thieves,  rascals!  You  are 
no  Southerner  if  you  do  not  hate  them  as  much  as 
I!"  Ah  qcl!  a  true-blue  Yankee  tell  me  that  I,  born 
and  bred  here,  am  no  Southerner!  I  always  think, 
"It  is  well  for  you,  my  friend,  to  save  your  credit, 
else  you  might  be  suspected  by  some  people,  though 
your  violence  is  enough  for  me."  I  always  say,  "  You 
may  do  as  you  please;  my  brothers  are  fighting  for 
me,  and  doing  their  duty,  so  that  excess  of  patriot- 
ism is  unnecessary  for  me,  as  my  position  is  too  well 
known  to  make  any  demonstrations  requisite." 

This  war  has  brought  out  wicked,  malignant  feel- 
ings that  I  did  not  believe  could  dwell  in  woman's 
heart.  I  see  some  of  the  holiest  eyes,  so  holy  one 
would  think  the  very  spirit  of  charity  lived  in  them, 
and  all  Christian  meekness,  go  off  in  a  mad  tirade 
of  abuse  and  say,  with  the  holy  eyes  wondrously 

1  This  passage  was  later  annotated  by  Mrs.  Dawson  as  follows: 
"  Friend  (Farragut).  Lady  (I  know  her,  alas!).  Husband  (She  had 
none!)." 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

changed,  "  I  hope  God  will  send  down  plague,  yellow 
fever,  famine,  on  these  vile  Yankees,  and  that  not 
one  will  escape  death."  O,  what  unutterable  horror 
that  remark  causes  me  as  often  as  I  hear  it !  I  think 
of  the  many  mothers,  wives,  and  sisters  who  wait  as 
anxiously,  pray  as  fervently  in  their  faraway  homes 
for  their  dear  ones,  as  we  do  here ;  I  fancy  them  wait- 
ing day  after  day  for  the  footsteps  that  will  never 
come,  growing  more  sad,  lonely,  and  heart-broken 
as  the  days  wear  on ;  I  think  of  how  awful  it  would  be 
if  one  would  say,  "Your  brothers  are  dead";  how 
it  would  crush  all  life  and  happiness  out  of  me;  and 
I  say,  "God  forgive  these  poor  women!  They  know 
not  what  they  say!"  O  women!  into  what  loath- 
some violence  you  have  abased  your  holy  mission ! 
God  will  punish  us  for  our  hard-heartedness.  Not  a 
square  off,  in  the  new  theatre,  lie  more  than  a  hun- 
dred sick  soldiers.  What  woman  has  stretched  out 
her  hand  to  save  them,  to  give  them  a  cup  of  cold 
water?  Where  is  the  charity  which  should  ignore  na- 
tions and  creeds,  and  administer  help  to  the  Indian 
and  -Heathen  indifferently?  Gone !  All  gone  in  Union 
versus  Secession !  That  is  what  the  American  War 
has  brought  us.  If  I  was  independent,  if  I  could  work 
my  own  will  without  causing  others  to  suffer  for  my 
deeds,  I  would  not  be  poring  over  this  stupid  page; 
I  would  not  be  idly  reading  or  sewing.  I  would  put 
aside  woman's  trash,  take  up  woman's  duty,  and 
I  would  stand  by  some  forsaken  man  and  bid  him 
Godspeed   as   he   closes   his  dying   eyes.     That  is 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

woman's  mission !  and  not  Preaching  and  Politics.  I 
say  I  would,  yet  here  I  sit!  O  for  liberty!  the  liberty 
that  dares  do  what  conscience  dictates,  and  scorns 
all  smaller  rules !  If  I  could  help  these  dying  men ! 
Yet  it  is  as  impossible  as  though  I  was  a  chained 
bear.  I  can't  put  out  my  hand.  I  am  threatened  with 
Coventry  because  I  sent  a  custard  to  a  sick  man  who 
is  in  the  army,  and  with  the  anathema  of  society 
because  I  said  if  I  could  possibly  do  anything  for 
Mr.  Biddle  —  at  a  distance  —  (he  is  sick)  I  would 
like  to  very  much.  Charlie  thinks  we  have  acted 
shockingly  in  helping  Colonel  McMillan,  and  that 
we  will  suffer  for  it  when  the  Federals  leave.  I  would 
like  to  see  any  man  who  dared  harm  my  father's 
daughter!  But  as  he  seems  to  think  our  conduct  re- 
flects on  him,  there  is  no  alternative.  Die,  poor  men, 
without  a  woman's  hand  to  close  your  eyes!  We 
women  are  too  patriotic  to  help  you !  I  look  eagerly 
on,  cry  in  my  soul,  "  I  wish  — " ;  you  die;  God  judges 
me.  Behold  the  woman  who  dares  not  risk  private 
ties  for  God's  glory  and  her  professed  religion! 
Coward,  helpless  woman  that  I  am!  If  I  was  free  — ! 

June  17th. 
Yesterday,  and  day  before,  boats  were  constantly 
arriving  and  troops  embarking  from  here,  destined 
for  Vicksburg.  There  will  be  another  fight,  and  of 
course  it  will  fall.  I  wish  Will  was  out  of  it;  I  don't 
want  him  to  die.  I  got  the  kindest,  sweetest  letter 
from  Will  when  Miriam  came  from  Greenwell.    It 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

was  given  to  her  by  a  guerrilla  on  the  road  who  asked 
if  she  was  not  Miss  Sarah  Morgan. 

June  1 8th. 

How  long,  O  how  long,  is  it  since  I  have  lain  down 
in  peace,  thinking,  "This  night  I  will  rest  in  safety"  ? 
Certainly  not  since  the  fall  of  Fort  Jackson.  If  left 
to  myself,  I  would  not  anticipate  evil,  but  would 
quietly  await  the  issue  of  all  these  dreadful  events ; 
but  when  I  hear  men,  who  certainly  should  know 
better  than  I,  express  their  belief  that  in  twenty-four 
hours  the  town  will  be  laid  in  ashes,  I  begin  to  grow 
uneasy,  and  think  it  must  be  so,  since  they  say  it. 
These  last  few  days,  since  the  news  arrived  of  the 
intervention  of  the  English  and  French,  I  have  alter- 
nately risen  and  fallen  from  the  depth  of  despair  to 
the  height  of  delight  and  expectation,  as  the  proba- 
bility of  another  exodus  diminishes,  and  peace  ap- 
pears more  probable.  If  these  men  would  not 
prophesy  the  burning  of  the  city,  I  would  be  per- 
fectly satisfied.  .  .  . 

Well !  I  packed  up  a  few  articles  to  satisfy  my  con- 
science, since  these  men  insist  that  another  run  is 
inevitable,  though  against  my  own  conviction.  I 
am  afraid  I  was  partly  influenced  by  my  dream  last 
night  of  being  shelled  out  unexpectedly  and  flying 
without  saving  an  article.  It  was  the  same  dream  I 
had  a  night  or  two  before  we  fled  so  ingloriously 
from  Baton  Rouge,  when  I  dreamed  of  meeting  Will 
Pinckney  suddenly,  who  greeted  me  in  the  most 
extraordinarily  affectionate  manner,  and  told  me 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

that  Vicksburg  had  fallen.  He  said  he  had  been 
chiefly  to  blame,  and  the  Southerners  were  so  incensed 
at  his  losing,  the  Northerners  at  his  defending,  that 
both  were  determined  to  hang  him;  he  was  running 
for  his  life.  He  took  me  to  a  hill  from  which  I  could 
see  the  Garrison,  and  the  American  flag  flying  over 
it.  I  looked,  and  saw  we  were  standing  in  blood  up 
to  our  knees,  while  here  and  there  ghastly  white 
bones  shone  above  the  red  surface.  Just  then,  below 
me  I  saw  crowds  of  people  running.  "What  is  it?" 
I  asked.  "It  means  that  in  another  instant  they  will 
commence  to  shell  the  town.  Save  yourself."  "But 
Will  —  I  must  save  some  clothes,  too !  How  can  I  go 
among  strangers  with  a  single  dress  ?  I  will  get  some ! ' ' 
I  cried.  He  smiled  and  said,  "You  will  run  with 
only  what  articles  you  happen  to  have  on."  Bang! 
went  the  first  shell,  the  people  rushed  by  with 
screams,  and  I  awakened  to  tell  Miriam  what  an 
absurd  dream  I  had  had.  It  happened  as  Will  had 
said,  either  that  same  day  or  the  day  after;  for  the 
change  of  clothes  we  saved  apiece  were  given  to 
Tiche,  who  lost  sight  of  us  and  quietly  came  home 
when  all  was  over,  and  the  two  dirty  skirts  and  old 
cloak  mother  saved,  after  carrying  them  a  mile  and 
a  half,  I  put  in  the  buggy  that  took  her  up ;  so  I  saved 
nothing  except  the  bag  that  was  tied  under  my  hoops. 
Will  was  right.  I  saved  not  even  my  powder-bag. 
(Tiche  had  it  in  the  bundle.)  My  handkerchief  I 
gave  mother  before  we  had  walked  three  squares, 
and  throughout  that  long  fearfully  warm  day,  riding 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  walking  through  the  fiery  sunshine  and  stifling 
dust,  I  had  neither  to  cool  or  comfort  me. 

June  19th. 
Miriam  and  I  have  disgraced  ourselves!  This 
morning  I  was  quietly  hearing  Dellie's  lessons,  when 
I  was  startled  by  mother's  shrieks  of  "Send  for  a 
guard  —  they ' ve  murdered  him ! "  I  saw  through  the 
window  a  soldier  sitting  in  the  road  just  opposite, 
with  blood  streaming  from  his  hand  in  a  great  pool 
in  the  dust.  I  was  downstairs  in  three  bounds,  and, 
snatching  up  some  water,  ran  to  where  he  sat  alone, 
not  a  creature  near,  though  all  the  inhabitants  of  our 
side  of  the  street  were  looking  on  from  the  balconies, 
all  crying  "Murder!"  and  "Help!"  without  moving 
themselves.  I  poured  some  water  on  the  man's 
bloody  hand,  as  he  held  it  streaming  with  gore  up  to 
me,  saying,  "The  man  in  there  did  it,"  meaning  the 
one  who  keeps  the  little  grog-shop,  though  it  puzzled 
me  at  the  time  to  see  that  all  the  doors  were  closed 
and  not  a  face  visible.  I  had  hardly  time  to  speak 
when  Tiche  called  loudly  to  me  to  come  away,  — 
she  was  safe  at  the  front  gate,  —  and  looking  up,  I 
found  myself  in  a  knot  of  a  dozen  soldiers,  and  took 
her  advice  and  retreated  home.  It  proved  to  be  the 
guard  Miriam  had  roused.  She  ran  out  as  I  did, 
and  seeing  a  gentleman,  begged  him  to  call  the  guard 
for  that  murdered  man.  The  individual  —  he  must 
have  been  a  "patriot "  —  said  he  did  n't  know  where 
to  find  one.   She  cried  out  they  were  at  Heroman's; 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

he  said  he  didn't  believe  they  were.  "Go!  I  tell 
you!"  she  screamed  at  last;  but  the  brave  man  said 
he  did  n't  like  to,  so  she  ran  to  the  corner  and  called 
the  soldiers  herself.  O  most  brave  man !  Before  we 
got  back  from  our  several  expeditions,  we  heard 
mother,  Lilly,  Mrs.  Day,  all  shouting,  "Bring  in  the 
children !  lock  the  doors ! ' '  etc.  All  for  a  poor  wounded 
soldier! 

We  after  discovered  that  the  man  was  drunk,  and 
had  cursed  the  woman  of  the  grog-shop,  whereupon 
her  husband  had  pitched  him  out  in  the  street,  where 
they  found  him.  They  say  he  hurt  his  hand  against 
a  post;  but  wood  could  never  have  cut  deep  enough 
to  shed  all  that  gore.  I  don't  care  if  he  was  drunk  or 
sober,  soldier  or  officer,  Federal  or  Confederate!  If 
he  had  been  Satan  himself  lying  helpless  and  bleed- 
ing in  the  street,  I  would  have  gone  to  him!  I  can't 
believe  it  was  as  criminal  as  though  I  had  watched 
quietly  from  a  distance,  believing  him  dying  and 
contenting  myself  with  looking  on.  Yet  it  seems  it 
was  dreadfully  indecorous;  Miriam  and  I  did  very 
wrong;  we  should  have  shouted  murder  with  the  rest 
of  the  women  and  servants.  Whereas  the  man  who 
declined  committing  himself  by  calling  one  soldier 
to  the  rescue  of  another,  supposed  to  be  dying,  acted 
most  discreetly,  and  showed  his  wisdom  in  the  most 
striking  manner. 

May  I  never  be  discreet,  or  wise,  if  this  is  Chris- 
tian conduct,  or  a  sample  of  either !  I  would  rather 
be  a  rash,  impetuous  fool !  Charlie  says  he  would  not 

85 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

open  his  mouth  to  save  a  dozen  from  being  murdered. 
I  say  I  am  not  Stoic  enough  for  that.  Lilly  agrees 
with  him,  Miriam  with  me;  so  here  we  two  culprits 
stand  alone  before  the  tribunal  of  "patriotism." 
Madame  Roland,  I  take  the  liberty  of  altering  your 
words  and  cry,  "0  Patriotism!  How  many  base 
deeds  are  sanctioned  by  your  name!"  Don't  I 
wish  I  was  a  heathen!  In  twenty-four  hours  the 
whole  country  will  be  down  on  us. 

O  for  a  pen  to  paint  the  slaves 

Whose  "country"  like  a  deadly  blightj 

Closes  all  hearts  when  Pity  craves 

And  turns  God's  spirit  to  darkest  night! 

May  life's  patriotic  cup  for  such 

Be  filled  with  glory  overmuch ; 
And  when  their  spirits  go  above  in  pride, 

Spirit  of  Patriotism,  let  these  valiant  abide 
Full  in  the  sight  of  grand  mass-meeting  —  I  don't 

Want  you  to  cuss  them, 
But  put  them  where  they  can  hear  politics, 

And  yet  can't  discuss  them! 

(I  can't  say  worse  than  that!) 

June  26th. 

Yesterday  morning,  just  as  I  stepped  out  of  bed 
I  heard  the  report  of  four  cannon  fired  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, and  everybody  asked  everybody  else,  "Did 
you  hear  that?"  so  significantly,  that  I  must  say  my 
heart  beat  very  rapidly  for  a  few  moments,  at  the 
thought  of  another  stampede.  At  half-past  six  this 
morning  I  was  wakened  by  another  report,  followed 
by  seven  others,  and  heard  again  the  question,  "  Did 
you  hear  that?"  on  a  higher  key  than  yesterday. — 

86 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

It  did  not  take  me  many  minutes  to  get  out  of  bed, 
and  to  slip  on  a  few  articles,  I  confess.  My  chief  de- 
sire was  to  wash  my  face  before  running,  if  they  were 
actually  shelling  us  again.  It  appears  that  they  were 
only  practicing,  however,  and  no  harm  was  intended. 
But  we  are  living  on  such  a  volcano,  that,  not  know- 
ing what  to  expect,  we  are  rather  nervous. 

I  am  afraid  this  close  confinement  will  prove  too 
much  for  me;  my  long  walks  are  cut  off,  on  account 
of  the  soldiers.  One  month  to-morrow  since  my  last 
visit  to  the  graveyard !  That  haunts  me  always ;  it 
must  be  so  dreary  out  there !  Here  is  a  sketch  of  my 
daily  life,  enough  to  finish  me  off  forever,  if  much 
longer  persisted  in. 

First,  get  up  a  little  before  seven.  After  breakfast, 
which  is  generally  within  a  few  minutes  after  I  get 
down  (it  used  to  be  just  as  I  got  ready,  and  some- 
times before,  last  winter),  I  attend  to  my  garden, 
which  consists  of  two  strips  of  ground  the  length 
of  the  house,  in  front,  where  I  can  find  an  hour's 
work  in  examining  and  admiring  my  flowers,  re- 
planting those  that  the  cows  and  horses  occasionally 
(once  a  day)  pull  up  for  me,  and  in  turning  the  soil 
over  and  over  again  to  see  which  side  grows  best. 
O  my  garden!  abode  of  rare  delights!  how  many 
pleasant  hours  I  have  passed  in  you,  armed  with 
scissors,  knife,  hoe,  or  rake,  only  pausing  when  Mr. 
This  or  Mr.  That  leaned  over  the  fence  to  have  a 
talk!  —  last  spring,  that  was;  ever  so  many  are  dead 
now,  for  all  I  know,  and  all  off  at  the  war.    Now  I 

87 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

work  for  the  edification  of  proper  young  women,  who 
look  in  astonishment  at  me,  as  they  would  con- 
sider themselves  degraded  by  the  pursuit.  A  deli- 
cate pair  of  hands  my  flower  mania  will  leave  me ! 

Then  I  hear  Dellie's  and  Morgan's  lessons,  after 
which  I  open  my  desk  and  am  lost  in  the  mysteries 
of  Arithmetic,  Geography,  Blair's  Lectures,  Noel  et 
Chapsal,  Ollendorff,  and  reading  aloud  in  French  and 
English,  besides  writing  occasionally  in  each,  and 
sometimes  a  peep  at  Lavoisne,  until  very  nearly 
dinner.  The  day  is  not  half  long  enough  for  me. 
Many  things  I  would  like  to  study  I  am  forced  to 
give  up,  for  want  of  leisure  to  devote  to  them.  But 
one  of  these  days,  I  will  make  up  for  present  defi- 
ciencies. I  study  only  what  I  absolutely  love,  now; 
but  then,  if  I  can,  I  will  study  what  I  am  at  present 
ignorant  of,  and  cultivate  a  taste  for  something  new. 

The  few  moments  before  dinner,  and  all  the  time 
after,  I  devote  to  writing,  sewing,  knitting,  etc., 
and  if  I  included  darning,  repairs,  alterations,  etc., 
my  list  would  be  tremendous,  for  I  get  through  with 
a  great  deal  of  sewing.  Somewhere  in  the  day,  I  find 
half  an  hour,  or  more,  to  spend  at  the  piano.  Before 
sunset  I  dress,  and  am  free  to  spend  the  evening  at 
home,  or  else  walk  to  Mrs.  Brunot's,  for  it  is  not  safe 
to  go  farther  than  those  three  squares,  away  from 
home.  From  early  twilight  until  supper,  Miriam  and 
I  sing  with  the  guitar,  generally,  and  after,  sit  com- 
fortably under  the  chandelier  and  read  until  about 
ten.  What  little  reading  I  do,  is  almost  exclusively 

88 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

done  at  that  time.  It  sounds  woefully  little,  but  my 
list  of  books  grows  to  quite  a  respectable  size,  in 
the  course  of  a  year. 

At  ten  comes  my  Bible  class  for  the  servants. 
Lucy,  Rose,  Nancy,  and  Dophy  assemble  in  my 
room,  and  hear  me  read  the  Bible,  or  stories  from  the 
Bible  for  a  while.  Then  one  by  one  say  their  prayers 
—  they  cannot  be  persuaded  to  say  them  together; 
Dophy  says  "she  can't  say  with  Rose,  'cause  she 
ain't  got  no  brothers  and  sisters  to  pray  for,"  and 
Lucy  has  no  father  or  mother,  and  so  they  go.  All 
difficulties  and  grievances  during  the  day  are  laid 
before  me,  and  I  sit  like  Moses  judging  the  children 
of  Israel,  until  I  can  appease  the  discord.  Sometimes 
it  is  not  so  easy.  For  instance,  that  memorable  night 
when  I  had  to  work  Rose's  stubborn  heart  to  a  proper 
pitch  of  repentance  for  having  stabbed  a  carving- 
fork  in  Lucy's  arm  in  a  fit  of  temper.  I  don't  know 
that  I  was  ever  as  much  astonished  as  I  was  at  see- 
ing the  dogged,  sullen  girl  throw  herself  on  the 
floor  in  a  burst  of  tears,  and  say  if  God  would  for- 
give her  she  would  never  do  it  again.  I  was  lashing 
myself  internally  for  not  being  able  to  speak  as  I 
should,  furious  at  myself  for  talking  so  weakly,  and 
lo!  here  the  girl  tumbles  over  wailing  and  weeping! 
And  Dophy,  overcome  by  her  feelings,  sobs,  "Lucy, 
I  scratched  you  last  week!  please  forgive  me  this 
once!"  And  amazed  and  bewildered  I  look  at  the 
touching  tableau  before  me  of  kissing  and  reconcilia- 
tion, for  Lucy  can  bear  malice  toward  no  one,  and 

89 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

is  ready  to  forgive  before  others  repent,  and  I  look 
from  one  to  the  other,  wondering  what  it  was  that 
upset  them  so  completely,  for  certainly  no  words 
of  mine  caused  it.  Sometimes  Lucy  sings  a  wild 
hymn,  "Did  you  ever  hear  the  heaven  bells  ring?" 
"Come,  my  loving  brothers,"  "When  I  put  on  my 
starry  crown,"  etc.;  and  after  some  such  scene  as 
that  just  described,  it  is  pleasant  to  hear  them  go- 
ing out  of  the  room  saying,  "Good-night,  Miss 
Sarah!"    "God  bless  Miss  Sarah!"  and  all  that. 

June  27th. 
A  proclamation  of  Van  Dorn  has  just  been  smug- 
gled into  town,  that  advises  all  persons  living  with- 
in eight  miles  of  the  Mississippi  to  remove  into  the 
interior,  as  he  is  determined  to  defend  his  depart- 
ment at  all  hazards  to  the  last  extremity.  Does  not 
look  like  the  Peace  I  have  been  deluding  myself 
with,  does  it?  That  means  another  Exodus.  How  are 
we  to  leave,  when  we  are  not  allowed  to  pass  the 
limits  of  the  corporation  by  the  Federals?  Where  are 
we  to  go?  We  are  between  the  two  armies,  and  here 
we  must  remain  patiently  awaiting  the  result.  Some 
of  these  dark  nights,  bang!  we  will  hear  the  cannon, 
and  then  it  will  be  sauve  qui  pent  in  a  shower  of  shells. 
Bah !  I  don't  believe  God  will  suffer  that  we  should 
be  murdered  in  such  a  dreadful  way!  I  don't  believe 
He  will  suffer  us  to  be  turned  homeless  and  naked  on 
the  world !  "Something  will  turn  up "  before  we  are 
attacked,  and  we  will  be  spared,  I  am  certain.    We 

90 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

can't  look  forward  more  than  an  hour  at  a  time  now, 

sometimes  not  a  minute  ahead  (witness  the  shelling 

frolic),  so  I  must  resume  my  old  habit  of  laying  a 

clean  dress  on  my  bed  before  going  to  sleep,  which  I 

did  every  night  for  six  weeks  before  the  shelling  of 

Baton  Rouge,  in  order  to  run  respectably,  as  muslin 

cross-bar    nightgowns    are    not   suitable    for    day 

dresses. 

June  28th. 

I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  nervous  when  the  moment  of 
the  bombardment  actually  arrives.  This  suspense 
is  not  calculated  to  soothe  one's  nerves.  A  few  mo- 
ments since,  a  salute  was  fired  in  honor  of  General 
Butler's  arrival,  when  women,  children,  and  servants 
rushed  to  the  front  of  the  houses,  confident  of  a  rep- 
etition of  the  shelling  which  occurred  a  month  ago 
to-day.  The  children  have  not  forgotten  the  scene, 
for  they  all  actually  howled  with  fear.  Poor  little 
Sarah  stopped  her  screams  to  say,  "Mother,  don't 
you  wish  we  was  dogs  'stead  o'  white  folks?  "  in  such 
piteous  accents  that  we  had  to  laugh.  Don't  I 
wish  I  was  a  dog!  Sarah  is  right.  I  don't  know  if  I 
showed  my  uneasiness  a  while  ago,  but  certainly  my 
heart  has  hardly  yet  ceased  beating  rather  rapidly. 
If  I  knew  what  moment  to  expect  the  stampede,  I 
would  not  mind ;  but  this  way  —  to  expect  it  every 
instant  —  it  is  too  much !  Again,  if  I  knew  where  we 
could  go  for  refuge  from  the  shells ! 

A  window  banging  unexpectedly  just  then  gave 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

me  a  curious  twinge;  not  that  I  thought  it  was  the 
signal,  oh,  dear,  no!  I  just  thought  —  what,  I  won- 
der? Pshaw!  "Picayune  Butler's  coming,  coming" 
has  upset  my  nervous  system.  He  interrupted  me  in 
the  middle  of  my  arithmetic;  and  I  have  not  the 
energy  to  resume  my  studies.  I  shall  try- what  effect 
an  hour's  practice  will  have  on  my  spirits,  and  will 
see  that  I  have  a  pair  of  clean  stockings  in  my 
stampede  sack,  and  that  the  fastenings  of  my  "run- 
ning-bag" are  safe.  Though  if  I  expect  to  take  either, 
I  should  keep  in  harness  constantly.  How  long,  O 
Lord!  how  long? 

June  29th,  Sunday. 

"Any  more,  Mr.  Lincoln,  any  more?"  Can't  you 
leave  our  racked  homes  in  repose?  We  are  all  wild. 
Last  night,  five  citizens  were  arrested,  on  no  charge 
at  all,  and  carried  down  to  Picayune  Butler's  ship. 
What  a  thrill  of  terror  ran  through  the  whole  com- 
munity! We  all  felt  so  helpless,  so  powerless  under 
the  hand  of  our  tyrant,  the  man  who  swore  to  uphold 
the  Constitution  and  the  laws,  who  is  professedly 
only  fighting  to  give  us  all  Liberty,  the  birthright 
of  every  American,  and  who,  nevertheless,  has  ground 
us  down  to  a  state  where  we  would  not  reduce  our 
negroes,  who  tortures  and  sneers  at  us,  and  rules  us 
with  an  iron  hand !  Ah !  Liberty !  what  a  humbug !  I 
would  rather  belong  to  England  or  France,  than  to 
the  North !  Bondage,  woman  that  I  am,  I  can  never 
stand!  Even  now,  the  Northern  papers,  distributed 
among  us,  taunt  us  with  our  subjection  and  tell  us 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

"how  coolly  Butler  will  grind  them  down,  paying  no 
regard  to  their  writhing  and  torture  beyond  tighten- 
ing the  bonds  still  more ! "  Ah,  truly !  this  is  the  bitter- 
ness of  slavery,  to  be  insulted  and  reviled  by  cowards 
who  are  safe  at  home  and  enjoy  the  protection  of 
the  laws,  while  we,  captive  and  overpowered,  dare 
not  raise  our  voices  to  throw  back  the  insult,  and  are 
governed  by  the  despotism  of  one  man,  whose  word 
is  our  law!  And  that  man,  they  tell  us,  "is  the  right 
man  in  the  right  place.  He  will  develop  a  Union 
sentiment  among  the  people,  if  the  thing  can  be 
done ! "  Come  and  see  if  he  can !  Hear  the  curse  that 
arises  from  thousands  of  hearts  at  that  man's  name, 
and  say  if  he  will  "speedily  bring  us  to  our  senses." 
Will  he  accomplish  it  by  love,  tenderness,  mercy, 
compassion?  He  might  have  done  it;  but  did  he 
try?  When  he  came,  he  assumed  his  natural  r61e  as 
tyrant,  and  bravely  has  he  acted  it  through,  never 
once  turning  aside  for  Justice  or  Mercy.  .  .  .  This 
degradation  is  worse  than  the  bitterness  of  death! 
I  see  no  salvation  on  either  side.  No  glory  awaits 
the  Southern  Confederacy,  even  if  it  does  achieve  its 
independence;  it  will  be  a  mere  speck  in  the  world, 
with  no  weight  or  authority.  The  North  confesses 
itself  lost  without  us,  and  has  paid  an  unheard-of 
ransom  to  regain  us.  On  the  other  hand,  conquered, 
what  hope  is  there  in  this  world  for  us?  Broken  in 
health  and  fortune,  reviled,  contemned,  abused  by 
those  who  claim  already  to  have  subdued  us,  without 
a  prospect  of  future  support  for  those  few  of  our 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

brothers  who  return;  outcasts  without  home  or 
honor,  would  not  death  or  exile  be  preferable?  Oh, 
let  us  abandon  our  loved  home  to  these  implacable 
enemies,  and  find  refuge  elsewhere!  Take  from  us 
property,  everything,  only  grant  us  liberty!  Is  this 
rather  frantic,  considering  I  abhor  politics,  and 
women  who  meddle  with  them,  above  all?  My 
opinion  has  not  yet  changed ;  I  still  feel  the  same  con- 
tempt for  a  woman  who  would  talk  at  the  top  of  her 
voice  for  the  edification  of  Federal  officers,  as  though 
anxious  to  receive  an  invitation  requesting  her  pres- 
ence at  the  Garrison.  "I  can  suffer  and  be  still"  as 
far  as  outward  signs  are  concerned ;  but  as  no  word 
of  this  has  passed  my  lips,  I  give  it  vent  in  writing, 
which  is  more  lasting  than  words,  partly  to  relieve 
my  heart,  partly  to  prove  to  my  own  satisfaction 
that  I  am  no  coward ;  for  one  line  of  this,  surrounded 
as  we  are  by  soldiers,  and  liable  to  have  our  houses 
searched  at  any  instant,  would  be  a  sufficient  in- 
dictment for  high  treason. 

Under  General  Williams's  rule,  I  was  perfectly 
satisfied  that  whatever  was  done,  was  done  through 
necessity,  and  under  orders  from  Headquarters, 
beyond  his  control ;  we  all  liked  him.  But  now,  since 
Butler's  arrival,  I  believe  I  am  as  frantic  in  secret 
as  the  others  are  openly.  I  know  that  war  sanctions 
many  hard  things,  and  that  both  sides  practice 
them;  but  now  we  are  so  completely  lost  in  Louisi- 
ana, is  it  fair  to  gibe  and  taunt  us  with  our  humilia- 
tion?   I  could   stand  anything  save  the  cowardly 

94 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ridicule  and  triumph  of  their  papers.  Honestly,  I 
believe  if  all  vile  abusive  papers  on  both  sides  were 
suppressed,  and  some  of  the  fire-eating  editors  who 
make  a  living  by  lying  were  soundly  cowhided  or  had 
their  ears  clipped,  it  would  do  more  towards  estab- 
lishing peace,  than  all  the  bloodshedding  either  side 
can  afford.  I  hope  to  live  to  see  it,  too.  Seems  to 
me,  more  liberty  is  allowed  to  the  press  than  would 
be  tolerated  in  speech.  Let  us  speak  as  freely  as  any 
paper,  and  see  if  to-morrow  we  do  not  sleep  at  Fort 
Jackson ! 

This  morning  the  excitement  is  rare ;  fifteen  more 
citizens  were  arrested  and  carried  off,  and  all  the  rest 
grew  wild  with  expectation.  So  great  a  martyrdom 
is  it  considered,  that  I  am  sure  those  who  are  not  ar- 
rested will  be  woefully  disappointed.  It  is  ludicrous 
to  see  how  each  man  thinks  he  is  the  very  one  they 
are  in  search  of!  We  asked  a  twopenny  lawyer,  of 
no  more  importance  in  the  community  than  Dophy 
is,  if  it  was  possible  he  was  not  arrested.  "  But  I  am 
expecting  to  be  every  instant ! "  So  much  for  his  self- 
assurance  !  Those  arrested  have,  some,  been  quietly 
released  (those  are  so  smiling  and  mysterious  that  I 
suspect  them),  some  been  obliged  to  take  the  oath, 
some  sent  to  Fort  Jackson.  Ah,  Liberty!  What  a 
blessing  it  is  to  enjoy  thy  privileges !  If  some  of  these 
poor  men  are  not  taken  prisoners,  they  will  die  of 
mortification  at  the  slight. 

Our  valiant  Governor,  the  brave  Moore,  has  by 
order  of  the  real  Governor,  Moi'se,  made  himself 

95 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

visible  at  some  far-distant  point,  and  issued  a  proc- 
lamation, saying,  whereas  we  of  Baton  Rouge  were 
held  forcibly  in  town,  he  therefore  considered  men, 
women,  and  children  prisoners  of  war,  and  as  such 
the  Yankees  are  bound  to  supply  us  with  all  neces- 
saries, and  consequently  any  one  sending  us  aid  or 
comfort  or  provisions  from  the  country  will  be  se- 
verely punished.  Only  Moore  is  fool  enough  for  such 
an  order.  Held  down  by  the  Federals,  our  paper 
money  so  much  trash,  with  hardly  any  other  to  buy 
food  and  no  way  of  earning  it;  threatened  with 
starvation  and  utter  ruin,  our  own  friends,  by  way  of 
making  our  burden  lighter,  forbid  our  receiving  the 
means  of  prolonging  life,  and  after  generously  warn- 
ing us  to  leave  town,  which  they  know  is  perfectly 
impossible,  prepare  to  burn  it  over  our  heads,  and 
let  the  women  run  the  same  risk  as  the  men.  Penned 
in  on  one  little  square  mile,  here  we  await  our  fate 
like  sheep  in  the  slaughter-pen.  Our  hour  may  be  at 
hand  now,  it  may  be  to-night;  we  have  only  to  wait; 
the  booming  of  the  cannon  will  announce  it  to  us 
soon  enough. 

Of  the  six  sentenced  to  Fort  Jackson,  one  is  the 
Methodist  minister,  Mr.  Craven.  The  only  charge 
is,  that  he  was  heard  to  pray  for  the  Confederate 
States  by  some  officers  who  passed  his  house  during 
his  family  prayers.  According  to  that,  which  of  us 
would  escape  unhung?  I  do  not  believe  there  is 
a  woman  in  the  land  who  closes  her  eyes  before 
praying  for  God's  blessing  on  the  side  on  which  her 

96 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

brothers  are  engaged.  Are  we  all  to  cease?  Show  me 
the  dungeon  deep  enough  to  keep  me  from  praying 
for  them !  The  man  represented  that  he  had  a  large 
family  totally  dependent  on  him,  who  must  starve. 
"Let  them  get  up  a  subscription,"  was  General  But- 
ler's humane  answer.  "I  will  head  it  myself."  It  is 
useless  to  say  the  generous  offer  was  declined. 

June  30th. 
As  a  specimen  of  the  humanity  of  General  Butler, 
let  me  record  a  threat  of  his  uttered  with  all  the  force 
and  meaning  language  can  convey,  and  certainly 
enough  to  strike  terror  in  the  hearts  of  frail  women, 
since  all  these  men  believe  him  fully  equal  to  carry 
it  into  execution ;  some  even  believe  it  will  be  done. 
In  speaking  to  Mr.  Solomon  Benjamin  of  foreign 
intervention  in  our  favor,  he  said,  "Let  England  or 

France  try  it,  and  I  '11  be if  I  don't  arm  every 

negro  in  the  South,  and  make  them  cut  the  throat  of 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  it!  I  '11  make  them 
lay  the  whole  country  waste  with  fire  and  sword, 
and  leave  it  desolate!"  Draw  me  a  finer  picture  of 
Coward,  Brute,  or  Bully  than  that  one  sentence 
portrays!  O  men  of  the  North!  you  do  your  noble 
hearts  wrong  in  sending  such  ruffians  among  us  as 
the  representatives  of  a  great  people!  Was  ever  a 
more  brutal  thought  uttered  in  a  more  brutal  way? 
Mother,  like  many  another,  is  crazy  to  go  away  from 
here,  even  to  New  Orleans ;  but  like  the  rest,  will  be 
obliged  to  stand  and  await  her  fate.   I  don't  believe 

97 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Butler  would  dare  execute  his  threat,  for  at  the  first 
attempt,  thousands,  who  are  passive  now,  would  cut 
the  brutal  heart  from  his  inhuman  breast. 

Tuesday,  July  1st. 
I  heard  such  a  good  joke  last  night!  If  I  had  be- 
longed to  the  female  declaiming  club,  I  fear  me  I 
would  have  resigned  instantly  through  mere  terror. 
(Thank  Heaven,  I  don't!)  These  officers  say  the 
women  talk  too  much,  which  is  undeniable.  They 
then  said,  they  meant  to  get  up  a  sewing  society,  and 
place  in  it  every  woman  who  makes  herself  con- 
spicuous by  her  loud  talking  about  them.  Fancy 
what  a  refinement  of  torture !  But  only  a  few  would 
suffer;  the  majority  would  be  only  too  happy  to  en- 
joy the  usual  privilege  of  sewing  societies,  slander, 
abuse,  and  insinuations.  How  some  would  revel  in 
it.  The  mere  threat  makes  me  quake!  If  I  could  so 
far  forget  my  dignity,  and  my  father's  name,  as  to 
court  the  notice  of  gentlemen  by  contemptible  in- 
sult, etc.,  and  if  I  should  be  ordered  to  take  my  seat 
at  the  sewing  society  — !  !  !  I  would  never  hold  my 
head  up  again!  Member  of  a  select  sewing  circle! 
Fancy  me!  (I  know  "there  is  never  any  gossip  in 
our  society,  though  the  one  over  the  way  gets  up 
dreadful  reports";  I  have  heard  all  that,  but  would 
rather  try  neither.)  Oh,  how  I  would  beg  and  plead ! 
Fifty  years  at  Fort  Jackson,  good,  kind  General 
Butler,  rather  than  half  an  hour  in  your  sewing 
society!  Gentle,  humane  ruler,  spare  me  and  I  split 

98 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

my  throat  in  shouting  "  Yankee  Doodle "  and  "Hur- 
rah for  Lincoln ! "  Any,  every  thing,  so  I  am  not  dis- 
graced! Deliver  me  from  your  sewing  society,  and 
I  '11  say  and  do  what  you  please ! 

Butler  told  some  of  these  gentlemen  that  he  had  a 
detective  watching  almost  every  house  in  town,  and 
he  knew  everything.  True  or  not,  it  looks  suspi- 
cious. We  are  certainly  watched.  Every  evening  two 
men  may  be  seen  in  the  shadow  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  standing  there  until  ever  so  late,  some- 
times until  after  we  have  gone  to  bed.  It  may  be 
that,  far  from  home,  they  are  attracted  by  the  bright 
light  and  singing,  and  watch  us  for  their  amusement. 
A  few  nights  ago,  so  many  officers  passed  and  re- 
passed while  we  were  singing  on  the  balcony,  that  I 
felt  as  though  our  habit  of  long  standing  had  sud- 
denly become  improper.  Saturday  night,  having 
secured  a  paper,  we  were  all  crowding  around,  Lilly 
and  I  reading  every  now  and  then  a  piece  of  news 
from  opposite  ends  of  the  paper,  Charlie,  walking  on 
the  balcony,  found  five  officers  leaning  over  the  fence 
watching  us  as  we  stood  under  the  light,  through 
the  open  window.   Hope  they  won't  elect  me  to  the 

sewing  society ! 

Thursday  night,  July  3d. 

Another  day  of  sickening  suspense.  This  evening, 
about  three,  came  the  rumor  that  there  was  to  be 
an  attack  on  the  town  to-night,  or  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  we  had  best  be  prepared  for  anything.  I 
can't  say  I  believe  it,  but  in  spite  of  my  distrust,  I 

99 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

made  my  preparations.  First  of  all  I  made  a  charm- 
ing improvement  in  my  knapsack,  alias  pillow-case, 
by  sewing  a  strong  black  band  down  each  side  of  the 
centre  from  the  bottom  to  the  top,  when  it  is  carried 
back  and  fastened  below  again,  allowing  me  to  pass  my 
arms  through,  and  thus  present  the  appearance  of  an 
old  peddler.  Miriam's  I  secured  also,  and  tied  all  our 
laces  in  a  handkerchief  ready  to  lay  it  in  the  last  thing. 
But  the  interior  of  my  bag !  —  what  a  medley  it  is ! 
First,  I  believe,  I  have  secured  four  underskirts, 
three  chemises,  as  many  pairs  of  stockings,  two  under- 
bodies,  the  prayer  book  father  gave  me,  "Tennyson " 
that  Harry  gave  me  when  I  was  fourteen,  two  unmade 
muslins,  a  white  mull,  English  grenadine  trimmed 
with  lilac,  and  a  purple  linen,  and  nightgown. 
Then,  I  must  have  Lavinia's  daguerreotype,  arid 
how  could  I  leave  Will's,  when  perhaps  he  was  dead? 
Besides,  Howell's  and  Will  Carter's  were  with  him, 
and  one  single  case  did  not  matter.  But  there  was 
Tom  Barker's  I  would  like  to  keep,  and  oh!  let's 
take  Mr.  Stone's!  and  I  can't  slight  Mr.  Dunnington, 
for  these  two  have  been  too  kind  to  Jimmy  for  me 
to  forget;  and  poor  Captain  Huger  is  dead,  and  I  will 
keep  his,  so  they  all  went  together.  A  box  of  pens, 
too,  was  indispensable,  and  a  case  of  French  note- 
paper,  and  a  bundle  of  Harry's  letters  were  added. 
Miriam  insisted  on  the  old  diary  that  preceded  this, 
and  found  place  for  it,  though  I  am  afraid  if  she  knew 
what  trash  she  was  to  carry,  she  would  retract  before 
going  farther. 

ioo 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

It  makes  me  heartsick  to  see  the  utter  ruin  we  will 
be  plunged  in  if  forced  to  run  to-night.  Not  a  hun- 
dredth part  of  what  I  most  value  can  be  saved  —  if 
I  counted  my  letters  and  papers,  not  a  thousandth. 
But  I  cannot  believe  we  will  run  to-night.  The  sol- 
diers tell  whoever  questions  them  that  there  will  be 
a  fight  before  morning,  but  I  believe  it  must  be  to 
alarm  them.  Though  what  looks  suspicious  is,  that 
the  officers  said  —  to  whom  is  not  stated  —  that  the 
ladies  must  not  be  uneasy  if  they  heard  cannon  to- 
night, as  they  would  probably  commence  to  cele- 
brate the  Fourth  of  July  about  twelve  o'clock.  What 
does  it  mean?  I  repeat,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it; 
yet  I  have  not  yet  met  the  woman  or  child  who  is  not 
prepared  to  fly.  Rose  knocked  at  the  door  just  now 
to  show  her  preparations.  Her  only  thought  seems 
to  be  mother's  silver,  so  she  has  quietly  taken  pos- 
session of  our  shoe-bag,  which  is  a  long  sack  for  odds 
and  ends  with  cases  for  shoes  outside,  and  has  filled 
it  with  all  the  contents  of  the  silver- box;  this  hung 
over  her  arm,  and  carrying  Louis  and  Sarah,  this 
young  Samson  says  she  will  be  ready  to  fly. 

I  don't  believe  it,  yet  here  I  sit,  my  knapsack 
serving  me  for  a  desk,  my  seat  the  chair  on  which 
I  have  carefully  spread  my  clothes  in  order.  At  my 
elbow  lies  my  running-  or  treasure-bag,  surrounded 
by  my  cabas  filled  with  hair-pins,  starch,  and  a  band 
I  was  embroidering,  etc.;  near  it  lie  our  combs,  etc., 
and  the  whole  is  crowned  by  my  dagger ;  —  by  the 
way,  I  must  add  Miriam's  pistol  which  she  has  for- 

IOI 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

gotten,  though  over  there  lies  her  knapsack  ready, 

too,  with  our  bonnets  and  veils. 

It  is  long  past  eleven,  and  no  sound  of  the  cannon. 

Bah !  I  do  not  expect  it.  "I  '11  lay  me  down  and  sleep 

in  peace,  for  Thou  only,  Lord,  makest  me  to  dwell  in 

safety."  Good-night !  I  wake  up  to-morrow  the  same 

as  usual,  and  be  disappointed  that  my  trouble  was 

unnecessary. 

July  4th. 

Here  I  am,  and  still  alive,  having  wakened  but  once 
in  the  night,  and  that  only  in  consequence  of  Louis 
and  Morgan  crying;  nothing  more  alarming  than 
that.  I  ought  to  feel  foolish;  but  I  do  not.  I  am  glad 
I  was  prepared,  even  though  there  was  no  occasion 
for  it. 

While  I  was  taking  my  early  bath,  Lilly  came  to 
the  bath-house  and  told  me  through  the  weather- 
boarding  of  another  battle.  Stonewall  Jackson  has 
surrounded  McClellan  completely,  and  victory  is 
again  ours.  This  is  said  to  be  the  sixth  battle  he  has 
fought  in  twenty  days,  and  they  say  he  has  won 
them  all.  And  the  Seventh  Regiment  distinguished 
itself,  and  was  presented  with  four  cannon  on  the 
battlefield  in  acknowledgment  of  its  gallant  conduct! 
Gibbes  belongs  to  the  "ragged  howling  regiment 
that  rushed  on  the  field  yelling  like  unchained  devils 
and  spread  a  panic  through  the  army,"  as  the  North- 
ern papers  said,  describing  the  battle  of  Manassas. 
Oh,  how  I  hope  he  has  escaped! 

And  they  say  "Palmerston  has  urged  the  re- 
102 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

cognition  of  the  Confederacy,  and  an  armed  inter- 
vention on  our  side."  Would  it  not  be  glorious?  Oh, 
for  peace,  blessed  peace,  and  our  brothers  once  more! 
Palmerston  is  said  to  have  painted  Butler  as  the 
vilest  oppressor,  and  having  added  he  was  ashamed 
to  acknowledge  him  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  Perhaps 
knowing  the  opinion  entertained  of  him  by  foreign 
nations,  caused  Butler  to  turn  such  a  somersault.  For 
a  few  days  before  his  arrival  here,  we  saw  a  leading 
article  in  the  leading  Union  paper  of  New  Orleans, 
threatening  us  with  the  arming  of  the  slaves  for  our 
extermination  if  England  interfered,  in  the  same 
language  almost  as  Butler  used  when  here ;  three  days 
ago  the  same  paper  ridiculed  the  idea,  and  said  such 
a  brutal,  inhuman  thing  was  never  for  a  moment 
thought  of,  it  was  too  absurd.  And  so  the  world  goes ! 
We  all  turn  somersaults  occasionally. 

And  yet,  I  would  rather  we  would  achieve  our 
independence  alone,  if  possible.  It  would  be  so  much 
more  glorious.  And  then  I  would  hate  to  see  Eng- 
land conquer  the  North,  even  if  for  our  sake ;  my  love 
for  the  old  Union  is  still  too  great  to  be  willing  to  see 
it  so  humiliated.  If  England  would  just  make  Lin- 
coln come  to  his  senses,  and  put  an  end  to  all  this 
confiscation  which  is  sweeping  over  everything, 
make  him  agree  to  let  us  alone  and  behave  himself, 
that  will  be  quite  enough.  But  what  a  task!  If  it 
were  put  to  the  vote  to-morrow  to  return  free  and 
unmolested  to  the  Union,  or  stay  out,  I  am  sure 
Union  would  have  the  majority;  but  this  way,  to 

103 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

think  we  are  to  be  sent  to  Fort  Jackson  and  all  the 
other  prisons  for  expressing  our  ideas,  however  harm- 
less, to  have  our  houses  burned  over  our  heads,  and 
all  the  prominent  men  hanged,  who  would  be  eager 
for  it?  —  unless,  indeed,  it  was  to  escape  even  the 
greater  horrors  of  a  war  of  extermination. 

July  5th. 

Think,  that  since  the  28th  of  May,  I  have  not 
walked  three  squares  at  a  time,  for  my  only  walks 
are  to  Mrs.  Brunot's! 

It  is  enough  to  kill  any  one ;  I  might  as  well  be  at 
Ship  Island,  where  Butler  has  sentenced  Mrs.  Phillips 
for  laughing  while  the  corpse  of  a  Federal  officer  * 
was  passing  —  at  least,  that  is  to  be  the  principal 
charge,  though  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  Butler's  soul, 
that  he  had  better  reasons.  Shocking  as  her  conduct 
was,  she  hardly  deserved  two  years'  close  confine- 
ment in  such  a  dreadful  place  as  that,  because  she 
happened  to  have  no  sense  of  delicacy,  and  no  feel- 
ing. 

"The  darkest  hour  is  just  before  the  day";  we 
have  had  the  blackest  night  for  almost  three  months, 
and  I  don't  see  the  light  yet.  "  Better  days  are  com- 
ing — "    I  am  getting  skeptical,  I  fear  me. 

I  look  forward  to  my  future  life  with  a  shudder. 
This  one  cannot  last  long;  I  will  be  "up  and  doing" 
before  many  months  are  past.  Doing  what?  Why,  if 

1  Note  by  Mrs.  Dawson  in  1906:  DeKay,  our  relative. 
IO4 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

all  father  left  us  is  lost  forever,  if  we  are  to  be  penni- 
less as  well  as  homeless,  I  '11  work  for  my  living. 
How,  I  wonder?  I  will  teach.  I  know  I  am  not  capa- 
ble, but  I  can  do  my  best.  I  would  rather  die  than 
be  dependent;  I  would  rather  die  than  teach.  There 
now,  you  know  how  I  feel !  Teaching  before  depend- 
ence, death  before  teaching.  My  soul  revolts  from 
the  drudgery.  I  never  see  a  governess  that  my  heart 
does  not  ache  for  her.  I  think  of  the  nameless,  num- 
berless insults  and  trials  she  is  forced  to  submit  to; 
of  the  hopeless,  thankless  task  that  is  imposed  on 
her,  to  which  she  is  expected  to  submit  without  a 
murmur;  of  all  her  griefs  and  agony  shut  up  in  her 
heart,  and  I  cry  Heaven  help  a  governess.  My  heart 
bleeds  for  them  and  — 

I  o'clock  P.M. 

Thus  far  had  I  reached  when  news  came  that  our 
forces  were  attacking  the  town,  and  had  already 
driven  the  pickets  in!    I  am  well  now. 

We  all  rushed  to  make  preparations  instantly.  I 
had  just  finished  washing  my  hair,  before  I  com- 
menced writing,  and  had  it  all  streaming  around  me; 
but  it  did  not  take  a  minute  to  thrust  it  into  a  loose 
net.  Then  we  each  put  on  a  fresh  dress,  except  myself, 
as  I  preferred  to  have  a  linen  cambric  worn  several 
times  before,  to  a  clean  one  not  quite  so  nice,  for 
that  can  do  good  service  when  washed.  The  excite- 
ment is  intense ;  mother  is  securing  a  few  of  father's 
most  valuable  papers;  Lilly  running  around  after 
the  children,  and  waiting  for  Charlie  who  cannot  be 

105 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

found;  Miriam,  after  securing  all  things  needful, 
has  gone  downstairs  to  wait  the  issue;  and  I,  dressed 
for  instant  flight,  with  my  running-bag  tied  to  my 
waist,  and  knapsack,  bonnet,  veil,  etc.,  on  the  bed, 
occupy  my  last  few  moments  at  home  in  this  profit- 
able way. 

Nobody  knows  what  it  is.  A  regiment  has  been 
marched  out  to  meet  our  troops,  some  say  com- 
manded by  Van  Dorn,  which  I  doubt.  The  gunboats 
are  preparing  to  second  them ;  we  hear  the  Garrison 
drum  and  see  people  running,  that  is  all.  We  don't 
know  what  is  coming.  I  believe  it  will  prove  nothing, 
after  all.  But  — !  The  gunboat  is  drawn  up  so  as  to 
command  our  street  here;  the  guns  aimed  up  the 
street  just  below,  and  if  a  house  falls,  ours  will  be 
about  the  first.  Well!  this  time  next  year,  we  will 
know  all  of  which  we  are  now  ignorant.  That  is  one 
consolation!  The  house  will  either  be  down  or 
standing,  then. 

6  P.M. 

We  have  once  more  subsided ;  how  foolish  all  this 
seems!  Miriam  and  I  laughed  while  preparing,  and 
laughed  while  unpacking;  it  is  the  only  way  to 
take  such  things,  and  we  agree  on  that,  as  on  most 
other  subjects.  "They  say"  the  affair  originated 
from  half  a  dozen  shots  fired  by  some  Federal  sol- 
diers through  idleness,  whereupon  the  pickets  rushed 
in  screaming  Van  Dorn  was  after  them  at  the  head 
of  six  thousand  men.  I  have  my  reasons  for  doubt- 
ing the  story ;  it  must  have  been  something  more  than 

1 06 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

that,  to  spread  such  a  panic ;  for  they  certainly  had 
time  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  attack  before  they 
beat  the  long  roll  and  sent  out  their  troops,  for  if  it 
had  been  Van  Dorn,  he  would  have  been  on  them 
before  that.  Whatever  it  was,  I  am  glad  of  the  ex- 
citement, for  it  gave  me  new  lif 3  for  several  hours ;  I 
was  really  sick  before.  Oh,  this  life!  When  will  it 
end?  Evermore  and  forevermore  shall  we  live  in 
this  suspense?  I  wish  we  were  in  the  Sandwich 
Islands. 

July  7th. 

As  we  have  no  longer  a  minister  —  Mr.  Gierlow 
having  gone  to  Europe  —  and  no  papers,  I  am  in 
danger  of  forgetting  the  days  of  the  week,  as  well  as 
those  of  the  month ;  but  I  am  positive  that  yesterday 
was  Sunday  because  I  heard  the  Sunday-School 
bells,  and  Friday  I  am  sure  was  the  Fourth,  because 
I  heard  the  national  salute  fired.  I  must  remember 
that  to  find  my  dates  by. 

Well,  last  night  being  Sunday,  a  son  of  Captain 
Hooper,  who  died  in  the  Fort  Jackson  fight,  having 
just  come  from  New  Orleans,  stopped  here  on  his 
way  to  Jackson,  to  tell  us  the  news,  or  rather  to  see 
Charlie,  and  told  us  afterwards.  He  says  a  boat 
from  Mobile  reached  the  city  Saturday  evening,  and 
the  captain  told  Mr.  La  Noue  that  he  brought 
an  extra  from  the  former  place,  containing  news  of 
McClellan's  surrender  with  his  entire  army,  his 
being  mortally  wounded,  and  the  instant  depar- 
ture of  a  French,  and  English,  man-of-war,  from 

107 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Hampton  Roads,  with  the  news.  That  revived  my 
spirits  considerably  —  all  except  McClellan's  being 
wounded ;  I  could  dispense  with  that.  But  if  it  were 
true,  and  if  peace  would  follow,  and  the  boys  come 
home — !  Oh,  what  bliss!  I  would  die  of  joy  as 
rapidly  as  I  am  pining  away  with  suspense  now,  I 
am  afraid ! 

About  ten  o'clock,  as  we  came  up,  mother  went  to 
the  window  in  the  entry  to  tell  the  news  to  Mrs. 
Day,  and  while  speaking,  saw  a  man  creeping  by 
under  the  window,  in  the  narrow  little  alley  on  the 
side  of  the  house,  evidently  listening,  for  he  had 
previously  been  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree, 
and  left  the  street  to  be  nearer.  When  mother  ran 
to  give  the  alarm  to  Charlie,  I  looked  down,  and 
there  the  man  was,  looking  up,  as  I  could  dimly  see, 
for  he  crouched  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  fence. 
Presently,  stooping  still,  he  ran  fast  towards  the 
front  of  the  house,  making  quite  a  noise  in  the  long 
tangled  grass.  When  he  got  near  the  pepper-bush, 
he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  paused  a  mo- 
ment as  though  listening,  and  then  walked  quietly 
towards  the  front  gate.  By  that  time  Charlie  reached 
the  front  gallery  above,  and  called  to  him,  asking 
what  he  wanted.  Without  answering  the  man  walked 
steadily  out,  closed  the  gate  deliberately;  then,  sud- 
denly remembering  drunkenness  would  be  the  best 
excuse,  gave  a  lurch  towards  the  house,  walked  off 
perfectly  straight  in  the  moonlight,  until  seeing  Dr. 
Day  fastening  his  gate,  he  reeled  again. 

108 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

That  man  was  not  drunk!  Drunken  men  cannot 
run  crouching,  do  not  shut  gates  carefully  after  them, 
would  have  no  inclination  to  creep  in  a  dim  little 
alley  merely  to  creep  out  again.  It  may  have  been 
one  of  our  detectives.  Standing  in  the  full  moon- 
light, which  was  very  bright,  he  certainly  looked 
like  a  gentleman,  for  he  was  dressed  in  a  handsome 
suit  of  black.  He  was  no  citizen.  Form  your  own 
conclusions!  Well!  after  all,  he  heard  no  treason. 
Let  him  play  eavesdropper  if  he  finds  it  consistent 
with  his  character  as  a  gentleman. 

The  captain  who  brought  the  extra  from  Mobile 
wished  to  have  it  reprinted,  but  it  was  instantly 
seized  by  a  Federal  officer,  who  carried  it  to  Butler, 
who  monopolized  it;  so  that  will  never  be  heard  of 
again ;  we  must  wait  for  other  means  of  information. 
The  young  boy  who  told  us,  reminds  me  very  much 
of  Jimmy;  he  is  by  no  means  so  handsome,  but  yet 
there  is  something  that  recalls  him;  and  his  voice, 
though  more  childish,  sounds  like  Jimmy's,  too.  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  writing  to  Lydia  by  him,  of 
which  I  gladly  availed  myself,  and  have  just  finished 
a  really  tremendous  epistle. 

Wednesday,  9th  July. 

Poor  Miriam!  Poor  Sarah!  they  are  disgraced 
again !  Last  night  we  were  all  sitting  on  the  balcony 
in  the  moonlight,  singing  as  usual  with  our  guitar. 
I  have  been  so  accustomed  to  hear  father  say  in  the 
evening,  "  Come,  girls !  where  is  my  concert?  "  and  he 
took  so  much  pleasure  in  listening,  that  I  could  not 

109 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

think  singing  in  the  balcony  was  so  very  dreadful, 
since  he  encouraged  us  in  it.  But  last  night  changed 
all  my  ideas.  We  noticed  Federals,  both  officers  and 
soldiers,  pass  singly,  or  by  twos  or  threes  at  different 
times,  but  as  we  were  not  singing  for  their  benefit, 
and  they  were  evidently  attending  to  their  own  af- 
fairs, there  was  no  necessity  of  noticing  them  at  all. 
But  about  half-past  nine,  after  we  had  sung  two 
or  three  dozen  others,  we  commenced  "Mary  of 
Argyle."  As  the  last  word  died  away,  while  the  chords 
were  still  vibrating,  came  a  sound  of  —  clapping 
hands,  in  short !  Down  went  every  string  of  the  guitar ; 
Charlie  cried,  "I  told  you  so!"  and  ordered  an  im- 
mediate retreat;  Miriam  objected,  as  undignified, 
but  renounced  the  guitar;  mother  sprang  to  her 
feet,  and  closed  the  front  windows  in  an  instant, 
whereupon,  dignified  or  not,  we  all  evacuated  the 
gallery  and  fell  back  into  the  house.  All  this  was  done 
in  a  few  minutes,  and  as  quietly  as  possible ;  and  while 
the  gas  was  being  turned  off  downstairs,  Miriam  and 
I  flew  upstairs,  —  I  confess  I  was  mortified  to  death, 
very,  very  much  ashamed,  —  but  we  wanted  to 
see  the  guilty  party,  for  from  below  they  were  in- 
visible. We  stole  out  on  the  front  balcony  above, 
and  in  front  of  the  house  that  used  to  be  Gibbes's, 
we  beheld  one  of  the  culprits.  At  the  sight  of  the 
creature,  my  mortification  vanished  in  intense  com- 
passion for  his.  He  was  standing  under  the  tree, 
half  in  the  moonlight,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  look- 
ing at  the  extinction  of  light  below,  with  the  true 

no 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

state  of  affairs  dawning  on  his  astonished  mind,  and 
looking  by  no  means  satisfied  with  himself !  Such  an 
abashed  creature!  He  looked  just  as  though  he  had 
received  a  kick,  that,  conscious  of  deserving,  he 
dared  not  return !  While  he  yet  gazed  on  the  house 
in  silent  amazement  and  consternation,  hands  still 
forlornly  searching  his  pockets,  as  though  for  a  rea- 
son for  our  behavior,  from  under  the  dark  shadow 
of  the  tree  another  slowly  picked  himself  up  from  the 
ground  —  hope  he  was  not  knocked  down  by  surprise 
— and  joined  the  first.  His  hands  sought  his  pockets, 
too,  and,  if  possible,  he  looked  more  mortified  than 
the  other.  After  looking  for  some  time  at  the  house, 
satisfied  that  they  had  put  an  end  to  future  singing 
from  the  gallery,  they  walked  slowly  away,  turning 
back  every  now  and  then  to  be  certain  that  it  was 
a  fact.  If  ever  I  saw  two  mortified,  hangdog-looking 
men,  they  were  these  two  as  they  took  their  way 
home.   Was  it  not  shocking? 

But  they  could  not  have  meant  it  merely  to  be 
insulting  or  they  would  have  placed  themselves  in 
full  view  of  us,  rather  than  out  of  sight,  under  the 
trees.  Perhaps  they  were  thinking  of  their  own 
homes,  instead  of  us. 

July  ioth. 

A  proclamation  is  out  announcing  that  any  one 
talking  about  the  war,  or  present  state  of  affairs, 
will  be  "summarily"  dealt  with.  Now,  seems  to  me 
"summarily"  is  not  exactly  the  word  they  mean, 
but  still  it  has  an  imposing  effect.  What  a  sad  state 

in 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

their  affairs  must  be  in,  if  they  can't  bear  comment. 
An  officer  arrived  day  before  yesterday,  bringing  the 
surprising  intelligence  that  McClellan  had  captured 
Richmond  and  fifty  thousand  prisoners;  that  is  the 
time  they  talked.  But  when  we  received  yesterday  con- 
firmation of  his  being  finally  defeated  by  our  troops, 
and  the  capture  of  his  railroad  train  twelve  miles  in 
length,  they  forbid  further  mention  of  the  subject. 
I  wonder  if  they  expect  to  be  obeyed?  What  a  stretch 
of  tyranny !  O  free  America !  You  who  uphold  free 
people,  free  speech,  free  everything,  what  a  foul  blot 
of  despotism  rests  on  a  once  spotless  name !  A  nation 
of  brave  men,  who  wage  war  on  women  and  lock 
them  up  in  prisons  for  using  their  woman  weapon, 
the  tongue;  a  nation  of  free  people  who  advocate 
despotism ;  a  nation  of  Brothers  who  bind  the  weaker 
ones  hand  and  foot,  and  scourge  them  with  military 
tyrants  and  other  Free,  Brotherly  institutions ;  what 
a  picture!  Who  would  not  be  an  American?  One 
consolation  is,  that  this  proclamation,  and  the  ex- 
traordinary care  they  take  to  suppress  all  news  ex- 
cept what  they  themselves  manufacture,  proves  me 
our  cause  is  prospering  more  than  they  like  us  to 
know.  I  do  believe  day  is  about  to  break! 

If  our  troops  are  determined  to  burn  our  houses 
over  our  heads  to  spite  the  Yankees,  I  wish  they 
would  hurry  and  have  it  over  at  once.  Ten  regiments 
of  infantry  are  stationed  at  Camp  Moore,  and  Scott's 
cavalry  was  expected  at  Greenwell  yesterday,  both 
preparing  for  an  attack  on  Baton  Rouge.  If  we  must 

112 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

be  beggars,  let  it  come  at  once;  I  can't  endure  this 

suspense. 

July  nth. 

A  letter  from  George  this  morning!  It  was  writ- 
ten on  the  20th  of  June,  and  he  speaks  of  being  on 
crutches  in  consequence  of  his  horse  having  fallen 
with  him,  and  injured  his  knee.  Perhaps,  then,  he 
was  not  in  the  first  battle  of  the  25th?  But  bah!  I 
know  George  too  well  to  imagine  he  would  keep 
quiet  at  such  a  moment,  if  he  could  possibly  stand ! 
I  am  sure  he  was  there  with  the  rest  of  the  Louisi- 
ana regiment.  The  papers  say  "the  conduct  of  the 
First  Louisiana  is  beyond  all  praise";  of  course, 
George  was  there! 

And  Jimmy  is  with  him  at  Richmond ;  but  whether 
in  the  army,  or  navy,  or  what  rank  if  in  the  first, 
he  does  not  say;  he  only  says  he  is  looking  remark- 
ably well.  Gibbes  he  had  heard  from  in  a  letter  dated 
the  1 6th,  and  up  to  then  he  was  in  perfect  health. 
His  last  letter  here  was  dated  10th  of  March,  so  we 
are  thankful  enough  now.  I  was  so  delighted  to  read 
the  accounts  of  the  "gallant  Seventh  "  in  some  paper 
we  fortunately  procured.  At  Jackson's  address,  and 
presentation  of  the  battery  they  had  so  bravely  won, 
I  was  beside  myself  with  delight;  I  was  thinking 
that  Gibbes,  of  course,  was  "the"  regiment,  had 
taken  the  battery  with  his  single  sword,  and  I  know 
not  what  besides.  Strange  to  say,  I  have  not  an 
idea  of  the  names  of  the  half-dozen  battles  he  was  in, 
in  June,  but  believe  that  one  to  be  Port  Republic. 

113 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

June  1 2th  [sic]. 

Brother  writes  that  rumors  of  the  capture  of  Baton 
Rouge  by  our  troops  have  made  him  very  uneasy 
about  us;  and  he  wishes  us  to  go  down  to  New  Or- 
leans if  possible.  I  wish  we  could.  The  impression 
here,  is  that  an  attack  is  inevitable,  and  the  city 
papers  found  it  necessary  to  contradict  the  rumor 
of  Ruggles  having  occupied  it  already.  I  wish  mother 
would  go.  I  can  see  no  difference  there  or  here, 
except  that  there,  we  will  be  safe,  for  a  while  at 
least.  .  .  . 

I  grow  desperate  when   I  read  these  Northern 

papers  reviling  and  abusing  us,  reproaching  us  for 

being  broken  and  dispersed,  taunting  us  with  their 

victories,  sparing  no  humiliating  name  in  speaking  of 

us,  and  laughing  as  to  what  "we'll  see"  when  we  vile 

rebels  are  "driven  out  of  Virginia,  and  the  glorious 

Union  firmly  established."  I  can't  bear  these  taunts! 

I  grow  sick  to  read  these  vile,  insulting  papers  that 

seem  written  expressly  to  goad  us  into  madness!  .  .  . 

There  must  be  many  humane,  reasonable  men  in 

the  North ;  can  they  not  teach  their  editors  decency 

in  this  their  hour  of  triumph? 

July  13th,  Sunday. 

A  profitable  way  to  spend  such  a  day!  Being 
forced  to  dispense  with  church-going,  I  have  occu- 
pied myself  in  reading  a  great  deal,  and  writing  a 
little,  which  latter  duty  is  a  favorite  task  of  mine 
after  church  on  Sundays.  But  this  evening,  the 
mosquitoes  are  so  savage  that  writing  became  im- 

114 


JAMES    MORRIS    MORGAN 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

possible,  until  Miriam  and  I  instituted  a  grand  ex- 
termination process,  which  we  partly  accomplished 
by  extraordinary  efforts.  She  lay  on  the  bed  with 
the  bar  half-drawn  over  her,  and  half-looped  up, 
while  I  was  commissioned  to  fan  the  wretches  from 
all  corners  into  the  pen.  It  was  rather  fatiguing,  and 
in  spite  of  the  numbers  slain,  hardly  recompensed 
me  for  the  trouble  of  hunting  them  around  the  room ; 
but  still,  Miriam  says  exercise  is  good  for  me,  and 
she  ought  to  know. 

I  have  been  reading  that  old  disguster,  Boswell. 
Bah !  I  have  no  patience  with  the  toady !  I  suppose 
"my  mind  is  not  yet  thoroughly  impregnated  with 
the  Johnsonian  ether,"  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
I  cannot  appreciate  him,  or  his  work.  I  admire  him 
for  his  patience  and  minuteness  in  compiling  such 
trivial  details.  He  must  have  been  an  amiable  man, 
to  bear  Johnson's  brutal,  ill-humored  remarks;  but 
seems  to  me  if  I  had  not  spirit  enough  to  resent  the 
indignity,  I  would  at  least  not  publish  it  to  the  world ! 
Briefly,  my  opinion,  which  this  book  has  only  tended 
to  confirm,  is  that  Boswell  was  a  vain,  conceited 
prig,  a  fool  of  a  jackanape,  an  insupportable  syco- 
phant, a  —  whatever  mean  thing  you  please ;  there 
is  no  word  small  enough  to  suit  him.  As  to  Johnson, 
he  is  a  surly  old  bear;  in  short,  an  old  brute  of  a 
tyrant.  All  his  knowledge  and  attainments  could 
not  have  made  me  tolerate  him,  I  am  sure.  I  could 
have  no  respect  for  a  man  who  was  so  coarse  in 
speech  and  manners,  and  who  eat  like  an  animal. 

115 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Fact  is,  I  am  not  a  Boswellian,  or  a  Johnsonian, 
either.  I  do  not  think  him  such  an  extraordinary 
man.  I  have  heard  many  conversations  as  worthy 
of  being  recorded  as  nineteen-twentieths  of  his.  In 
spite  of  his  learning,  he  was  narrow-minded  and 
bigoted,  which  I  despise  above  all  earthly  failings. 
Witness  his  tirades  against  Americans,  calling  us 
Rascals,  Robbers,  Pirates,  and  saying  he  would  like 
to  burn  us !  Now  I  have  railed  at  many  of  these  ordi- 
nary women  here,  for  using  like  epithets  for  the 
Yankees,  and  have  felt  the  greatest  contempt  for 
their  absurd  abuse.  These  poor  women  do  not  as- 
pire to  Johnsonian  wisdom,  and  their  ignorance 
may  serve  as  an  excuse  for  their  narrow-mindedness ; 
but  the  wondrous  Johnson  to  rave  and  bellow  like 
any  Billingsgate  nymph!    Bah!    He  is  an  old  dis- 

guster ! 

July  14th,  3  p.m. 

Another  pleasant  excitement.  News  has  just 
arrived  that  Scott's  cavalry  was  having  a  hard  fight 
with  the  Yankees  eight  miles  from  town.  Everybody 
immediately  commenced  to  pick  up  stray  articles, 
and  get  ready  to  fly,  in  spite  of  the  intense  heat.  I 
am  resigned,  as  I  hardly  expect  a  shelling.  Another 
report  places  the  fight  fourteen  miles  from  here.  A 
man  on  horseback  came  in  for  reinforcements.  Heaven 
help  poor  Howell,  if  it  is  true.  I  am  beginning  to 
doubt  half  I  hear.  People  tell  me  the  most  extrava- 
gant things,  and  if  I  am  fool  enough  to  believe  them 
and  repeat  them,  I  suddenly  discover  that  it  is  not 

116 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

half  so  true  as  it  might  be,  and  as  they  themselves 
frequently  deny  having  told  it,  all  the  odium  of 
"manufacturing"  rests  on  my  shoulders,  which  have 
not  been  accustomed  to  bear  lies  of  any  kind.  I  mean 
to  cease  believing  anything,  unless  it  rests  on  the 
word  of  some  responsible  person.  By  the  way  — 
the  order  I  so  confidently  believed,  concerning  the 
proclamation,  turns  out  not  quite  so  bad.  I  was  told 
women  were  included,  and  it  extended  to  private 
houses  as  well  as  public  ones,  though  I  fortunately 
omitted  that  when  I  recorded  it.  When  I  read  it,  it 
said,  "All  discussions  concerning  the  war  are  pro- 
hibited in  bar-rooms,  public  assemblies,  and  street 
corners."  As  women  do  not  frequent  such  places,  and 
private  houses  are  not  mentioned,  I  cannot  imagine 
how  my  informant  made  the  mistake,  unless,  like 
me,  it  was  through  hearing  it  repeated.  Odious  as 
I  thought  it  then,  I  think  it  wise  now ;  for  more  than 
one  man  has  lost  his  life  through  discussions  of  the 

kind. 

July  17th,  Thursday. 

It  is  decided  that  I  am  to  go  to  New  Orleans  next 
week.  I  hardly  know  which  I  dislike  most,  going  or 
staying.  I  know  I  shall  be  dreadfully  homesick; 
but  — 

Remember  —  and  keep  quiet,  Sarah,  I  beg  of 
you.  Everything  points  to  an  early  attack  here. 
Some  say  this  week.  The  Federals  are  cutting  down 
all  our  beautiful  woods  near  the  Penitentiary,  to 

117 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

throw  up  breastworks,  some  say.  Cannon  are  to  be 
planted  on  the  foundation  of  Mr.  Pike's  new  house; 
everybody  is  in  a  state  of  expectation.  Honestly,  if 
Baton  Rouge  has  to  be  shelled,  I  shall  hate  to  miss 
the  fun.  It  will  be  worth  seeing,  and  I  would  like  to 
be  present,  even  at  the  risk  of  losing  my  big  toe  by 
a  shell.  But  then,  by  going,  I  can  save  many  of  my 
clothes,  and  then  Miriam  and  I  can  divide  when  every- 
thing is  burned  —  that  is  one  advantage,  besides 
being  beneficial  by  the  change  of  air.  They  say  the 
town  is  to  be  attacked  to-night.  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it. 

Oh,  I  was  so  distressed  this  evening!  They  tell 
me  Mr.  Biddle  was  killed  at  Vicksburg.  I  hope  it  is 
not  true.  Suppose  it  was  a  shot  from  Will's  battery? 

July  20th,  Sunday. 
Last  night  the  town  was  in  a  dreadful  state  of 
excitement.  Before  sunset  a  regiment,  that  had  been 
camped  out  of  town,  came  in,  and  pitched  their  tents 
around  the  new  theatre,  in  front  of  our  church.  All 
was  commotion  and  bustle;  and  as  the  pickets  had 
been  drawn  in,  and  >the  soldiers  talked  freely  of  ex- 
pecting an  attack,  everybody  believed  it,  and  was 
consequently  in  rather  an  unpleasant  state  of  antici- 
pation. Their  cannon  were  on  the  commons  back  of 
the  church,  the  artillery  horses  tied  to  the  wheels; 
while  some  dozen  tents  were  placed  around,  filled 
with  men  who  were  ready  to  harness  them  at  the 
first  alarm.  With  all  these  preparations  in  full  view, 

118 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

we  went  to  bed  as  usual.  I  did  not  even  take  the 
trouble  of  gathering  my  things  which  I  had  re- 
moved from  my  "peddler  sack";  and  slept,  satis- 
fied that,  if  forced  to  fly,  I  would  lose  almost  every- 
thing in  spite  of  my  precaution  in  making  a  bag. 

Well!  night  passed,  and  here  is  morning,  and  noth- 
ing is  heard  yet.  The  attack  is  delayed  until  this 
evening,  or  to-morrow,  they  say.  Woman  though 
I  am,  I  am  by  no  means  as  frightened  as  some  of 
these  men  are.  I  can't  get  excited  about  it.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  they  know  the  danger,  and  I  do  not. 
But  I  hate  to  see  men  uneasy!  I  have  been  so  accus- 
tomed to  brave,  fearless  ones,  who  would  beard  the 
Devil  himself,  that  it  gives  me  a  great  disgust  to  see 
any  one  less  daring  than  father  and  the  boys. 

I  have  been  so  busy  preparing  to  go  to  the  city 
that  I  think  if  the  frolic  should  intervene  and  pre- 
vent my  departure,  I  would  be  disappointed,  though 
I  do  not  want  to  go.  It  would  be  unpleasant,  for 
instance,  to  pack  all  I  own  in  my  trunk,  and  just  as 
I  place  the  key  in  my  pocket  to  hear  the  shriek  of 
"Van  Dorn!"  raised  again.  This  time  it  is  to  be 
Ruggles,  though.  I  would  not  mind  if  he  came  before 
I  was  packed.  Besides,  even  if  I  miss  the  fun  here, 
they  say  the  boats  are  fired  into  from  Plaquemine; 
and  then  I  have  the  pleasure  of  being  in  a  fight 
anyhow.  Mother  is  alarmed  about  that  part  of  my 
voyage,  but  Miriam  and  I  persuaded  her  it  is  noth- 
ing. 

If  I  was  a  man  —  oh,  would  n't  I  be  in  Richmond 
119 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

with  the  boys!  .  .  .  What  is  the  use  of  all  these 
worthless  women,  in  war  times?  If  they  attack,  I 
shall  don  the  breeches,  and  join  the  assailants,  and 
fight,  though  I  think  they  would  be  hopeless  fools 
to  attempt  to  capture  a  town  they  could  not  hold  for 
ten  minutes  under  the  gunboats.  How  do  breeches 
and  coats  feel,  I  wonder?  I  am  actually  afraid  of 
them.  I  kept  a  suit  of  Jimmy's  hanging  in  the 
armoir  for  six  weeks  waiting  for  the  Yankees  to 
come,  thinking  fright  would  give  me  courage  to  try  it 
(what  a  seeming  paradox!),  but  I  never  succeeded. 
Lilly  one  day  insisted  on  my  trying  it,  and  I  advanced 
so  far  as  to  lay  it  on  the  bed,  and  then  carried  my 
bird  out  —  I  was  ashamed  to  let  even  my  canary 
see  me ;  —  but  when  I  took  a  second  look,  my  cour- 
age deserted  me,  and  there  ended  my  first  and  last 
attempt  at  disguise.  I  have  heard  so  many  girls 
boast  of  having  worn  men's  clothes ;  I  wonder  where 
they  get  the  courage. 

To  think  half  the  men  in  town  sat  up  all  night  in 
expectation  of  a  stampede,  while  we  poor  women 
slept  serenely !  Everybody  is  digging  pits  to  hide  in 
when  the  ball  opens.  The  Days  have  dug  a  tremen- 
dous one ;  the  Wolffs,  Sheppers,  and  some  fifty  others 
have  taken  the  same  precaution.  They  may  as  well 
dig  their  graves  at  once;  what  if  a  tremendous  shell 
should  burst  over  them,  and  bury  in  the  dirt  those 
who  were  not  killed  ?  Oh,  no !  let  me  see  all  the  danger, 
and  the  way  it  is  coming,  at  once.  To-morrow,  —  or 
day  after,  —  in  case  no  unexpected  little  incident 

1 20 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

occurs  in  the  interval,  I  purpose  going  to  New  Or- 
leans, taking  father's  papers  and  part  of  Miriam's 
and  mother's  valuables  for  safe-keeping.  I  hate  to 
go,  but  they  all  think  I  should,  as  it  will  be  one  less 
to  look  after  if  we  are  shelled  —  which  I  doubt.  I 
don't  know  that  I  require  much  protection,  but  I 
might  as  well  be  agreeable  and  go.  Ouf !  how  I  will 
grow  homesick,  before  I  am  out  of  sight! 

Midnight. 
Here  we  go,  sure  enough.  At  precisely  eleven 
o'clock,  while  we  were  enjoying  our  first  dreams,  we 
were  startled  by  the  long  roll  which  was  beat  half  a 
square  below  us.  At  first  I  only  repeated  "The  roll 
of  the  drum,"  without  an  idea  connected  with  it;  but 
hearing  the  soldiers  running,  in  another  instant  I 
was  up,  and  was  putting  on  my  stockings  when 
Miriam  ran  in,  in  her  nightgown.  The  children  were 
roused  and  dressed  quickly,  and  it  did  not  take  us 
many  instants  to  prepare,  —  the  report  of  two  shots, 
and  the  tramp  of  soldiers,  cries  of  "Double-quick," 
and  sound  as  of  cannon  moving,  rather  hastening 
our  movements.  Armoirs,  bureaus,  and  everything 
else  were  thrown  open,  and  Miriam  and  I  hastily 
packed  our  sacks  with  any  articles  that  came  to 
hand,  having  previously  taken  the  precaution  to  put 
on  everything  fresh  from  the  armoir.  We  have  saved 
what  we  can ;  but  I  find  myself  obliged  to  leave  one 
of  my  new  muslins  I  had  just  finished,  as  it  occupied 
more  room  than  I  can  afford,  the  body  of  my  lovely 

121 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

lilac,  and  my  beauteous  white  mull.  But  then,  I  have 
saved  eight  half-made  linen  chemises!  that  will  be 
better  than  the  outward  show. 

Here  comes  an  alarm  of  fire  —  at  least  a  dreadful 
odor  of  burning  cotton  which  has  set  everybody 
wild  with  fear  that  conflagration  is  to  be  added  to 
these  horrors.  The  cavalry  swept  past  on  their  way 
to  the  river  ten  minutes  ago,  and  here  comes  the 
news  that  the  gunboats  are  drawing  up  their  an- 
chors and  making  ready.  Well!  here  an  hour  has 
passed ;  suppose  they  do  not  come  after  all  ?  I  have 
been  watching  two  sentinels  at  the  corner,  who  are 
singing  and  dancing  in  the  gayest  way.  One  reminds 
me  of  Gibbes;  I  have  seen  him  dance  that  way  often. 
I  was  glad  to  see  a  good-humored  man  again.  I  wish 
I  was  in  bed.  I  am  only  sitting  up  to  satisfy  my  con- 
science, for  I  have  long  since  ceased  to  expect  a  real 
bombardment.  If  it  must  come,  let  it  be  now;  I 
am  tired  of  waiting.  A  crowd  of  women  have  sought 
the  protection  of  the  gunboats.  I  am  distressed 
about  the  Brunots;  suppose  they  did  not  hear  the 
noise?  O  girls !  if  I  was  a  man,  I  wonder  what  would 
induce  me  to  leave  you  four  lone,  unprotected  women 
sleeping  in  that  house,  unconscious  of  all  this?  Is 
manhood  a  dream  that  is  past?  Is  humanity  an  idle 
name?  Fatherless,  brotherless  girls,  if  I  was  honored 
with  the  title  of  Man,  I  do  believe  I  would  be  fool 
enough  to  run  around  and  wake  you,  at  least!  Not 
another  word,  though.  I  shall  go  mad  with  rage  and 
disgust.  I  am  going  to  bed.  This  must  be  a  humbug. 

122 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Morgan  came  running  in,  once  more  in  his  night- 
gear,  begging  Lilly  to  hear  his  prayers.  In  answer  to 
her  "Why?  You  have  said  them  to-night!"  he  says, 
"Yes!  but  I've  been  getting  up  so  often!"  Poor 
child !  no  wonder  he  is  perplexed ! 

One  hour  and  a  half  of  this  nonsense,  and  no  result 
known.  We  are  told  the  firing  commenced,  and  the 
pickets  were  driven  in,  twenty  minutes  before  the 

long  roll  beat. 

July  2 1  st. 

It  is  impossible  to  discover  the  true  story  of  last 
night's  alarm.  Some  say  it  was  a  gang  of  negroes  who 
attacked  the  pickets  in  revenge  for  having  been 
turned  out  of  the  Garrison ;  others  say  it  was  a  number 
of  our  soldiers  who  fired  from  the  bushes ;  and  the  most 
amusing  story  is  that  they  took  alarm  at  an  old  white 
horse,  which  they  killed,  mistaking  him  for  the  Con- 
federates. One  regiment  has  refused  to  do  picket 
duty;  and  the  story  runs  among  these  poor  soldiers 
that  our  army,  which  is  within  a  mile,  is  perfectly 
overwhelming.    The  excitement  still  continues. 

I  have  been  writing  to  the  Brunots  the  news  con- 
firming the  death  of  McClellan,  the  surrender  of  his 
army,  and  the  good  tidings  of  our  Ram's  recent  ex- 
ploits above  Vicksburg,  and  her  arriving  safely 
under  the  guns  there.  If  we  could  keep  all  the  dis- 
patches that  have  passed  between  us  since  the  battle 
of  the  forts,  what  a  collection  of  absurdity  and  con- 
tradiction it  would  be!  "Forts  have  been  taken." 
"Their  ships  have  passed ;  forts  safe;  Yankees  at  our 

123 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

mercy."  "Ships  at  New  Orleans.  City  to  be  bom- 
barded in  twelve  hours."  "Forts surrendered."  "City 
under  British  protection."  "No,  it  is  n't."  "City 
surrendered."  "Mistake."  "Baton  Rouge  to  be 
burned  when  Yankee  ships  come."  And  soon,  some- 
times three  times  a  day,  each  dispatch  contradicting 
the  other,  and  all  equally  ridiculous. 

The  crowd  here  seems  to  increase.  The  streets  are 
thronged  with  the  military,  and  it  will  soon  be  im- 
possible to  go  even  to  Mrs.  Brunot's,  which  will  be 
a  great  privation  to  me.  .  .  .  Five  thousand  are  to 
come  next  week,  and  then  it  will  really  be  impossible 
to  go  in  the  streets. 

July  22d,  Tuesday. 

Another  such  day,  and  there  is  the  end  of  me! 
Charlie  decided  to  send  Lilly  and  the  children  into 
the  country  early  to-morrow  morning,  and  get  them 
safely  out  of  this  doomed  town.  Mother,  Miriam, 
and  I  were  to  remain  here  alone.  Take  the  children 
away,  and  I  can  stand  whatever  is  to  come;  but  this 
constant  alarm,  with  five  babies  in  the  house,  is  too 
much  for  any  of  us.  So  we  gladly  packed  their  trunks 
and  got  them  ready,  and  then  news  came  pouring  in. 

First  a  negro  man  just  from  the  country  told  Lilly 
that  our  soldiers  were  swarming  out  there,  that  he 
had  never  seen  so  many  men.  Then  Dena  wrote  us 
that  a  Mrs.  Bryan  had  received  a  letter  from  her 
son,  praying  her  not  to  be  in  Baton  Rouge  after  Wed- 
nesday morning,  as  they  were  to  attack  to-morrow. 
Then  a  man  came  to  Charlie,  and   told   him   that 

124 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

though  he  was  on  parole,  yet  as  a  Mason  he  must  beg 
him  not  to  let  his  wife  sleep  in  town  to-night;  to  get 
her  away  before  sunset.  But  it  is  impossible  for  her 
to  start  before  morning.  Hearing  so  many  rumors,  all 
pointing  to  the  same  time,  we  began  to  believe  there 
might  be  some  danger;  so  I  packed  all  necessary 
clothing  that  could  be  dispensed  with  now  in  a  large 
trunk  for  mother,  Miriam,  and  me,  and  got  it  ready 
to  send  out  in  the  country  to  Mrs.  Williams.  All  told, 
I  have  but  eight  dresses  left ;  so  I  '11  have  to  be  partic- 
ular. I  am  wealthy,  compared  to  what  I  would  have 
been  Sunday  night,  for  then  I  had  but  two  in  my 
sack,  and  now  I  have  my  best  in  the  trunk.  If  the 
attack  comes  before  the  trunk  gets  off,  or  if  the  trunk 
is  lost,  we  will  verily  be  beggars;  for  I  pack  well,  and 
it  contains  everything  of  any  value  in  clothing. 

The  excitement  is  on  the  increase,  I  think.  Every- 
body is  crazy  to  leave  town. 

Thursday,  July  24th. 

Yes;  that  must  be  the  date,  for  one  day  and  two 
nights  have  passed  since  I  was  writing  here.  Where 
shall  I  begin  the  story  of  my  wanderings?  I  don't 
know  that  it  has  a  beginning,  it  is  all  so  hurried  and 
confused. 

But  it  was  Tuesday  evening  that  the  Federals 
were  seized  with  a  panic  which  threw  the  whole  town 
in  alarm.  They  said  our  troops  were  within  eight 
miles,  ten  thousand  in  number.  The  report  was  even 
started  that  the  advance  guard  was  skirmishing  with 

125 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

the  Federals ;  the  shots  were  heard  distinctly,  a  dozen 
people  were  ready  to  swear.  The  Yankees  struck 
their  tents,  galloped  with  their  cannon  through  the 
streets  with  the  most  terrific  din,  troops  passed  at 
double-quick  on  their  way  to  the  Garrison,  every- 
thing was  confusion.  Mr.  Tunnard  told  us  yester- 
day he  was  present  when  part  of  them  reached  the 
gate  of  the  Garrison,  and  saw  one  of  the  officers  spring 
forward,  waving  his  sword,  and  heard  him  cry, 
"Trot,  men!  Gallop,  I  say!  Damn  you!  run  in!"  — 
with  a  perfect  yell  at  the  close ;  whereupon  all  lookers- 
on  raised  a  shout  of  laughter,  for  the  man  was 
frightened  out  of  his  wits.  A  Federal  officer  told  him 
that  their  fright  was  really  a  disgrace;  and  if  one 
thousand  of  our  men  had  come  in  town,  the  whole 
thirty-five  hundred  would  have  been  at  their 
mercy.  Even  the  naval  officers  denounce  it  as  a  most 
arrant  piece  of  cowardice;  for  instead  of  marching 
their  troops  out  to  meet  ours,  they  all  rushed  into 
the  Garrison,  where,  if  attacked,  their  only  retreat 
would  have  been  into  the  river.  The  gunboats  were 
ordered  into  the  middle  of  the  stream,  in  front  of  the 
Garrison;  and  cooped  up  there,  these  valiant  men 
awaited  the  assault  in  such  trepidation  that  yester- 
day they  freely  said  the  force  could  be  purchased  for 
fifty  cents,  they  are  so  ashamed  of  their  panic. 

Imagine  what  effect  this  had  on  the  inhabitants! 
Soon,  an  exodus  took  place,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Asylum,  and  we  needs  must  follow  the  general 
example  and  run,  too.   In  haste  we  packed  a  trunk 

126 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

with  our  remaining  clothes,  —  what  we  could  get 
in,  —  and  the  greatest  confusion  prevailed  for  an 
hour.  Beatrice  had  commenced  to  cry  early  in  the 
evening,  and  redoubled  her  screams  when  she  saw 
the  preparations ;  and  Louis  joining  in,  they  cried  in 
concert  until  eight  o'clock,  when  we  finally  got  off. 
What  a  din !  Lilly  looked  perfectly  exhausted ;  that 
look  on  her  face  made  me  heartsick.  Miriam  flew 
around  everywhere;  mother  always  had  one  more 
article  to  find,  and  the  noise  was  dreadful,  when 
white  and  black  assembled  in  the  hall  ready  at  last. 
Charlie  placed  half  of  the  trunks  on  the  dray,  leav- 
ing the  rest  for  another  trip;  and  we  at  last  started 
off.  Besides  the  inevitable  running-bag,  tied  to  my 
waist,  on  this  stifling  night  I  had  my  sunbonnet,  veil, 
comb,  toothbrush,  cabas  filled  with  dozens  of  small 
articles,  and  dagger  to  carry;  and  then  my  heart 
failed  me  when  I  thought  of  my  guitar,  so  I  caught 
it  up  in  the  case;  and  remembering  father's  heavy 
inkstand,  I  seized  that,  too,  with  two  fans.  If  I  was 
asked  what  I  did  with  all  these  things,  I  could  not 
answer.  Certain  it  is  I  had  every  one  in  my  hands, 
and  was  not  very  ridiculous  to  behold. 

Seventeen  in  number,  counting  white  and  black, 
our  procession  started  off,  each  loaded  in  their  own 
way.  The  soldiers  did  not  scruple  to  laugh  at  us. 
Those  who  were  still  waiting  in  front  of  the  churches 
to  be  removed  laughed  heartily,  and  cried,  "Hello! 
Where  are  you  going?  Running?  Good-bye!" 
Fortunately  they  could  not  see  our  faces,  for  it  was 

127 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

very  dark.  One  stopped  us  under  a  lamp-post  and 
wanted  us  to  go  back.  He  said  he  knew  we  were  to 
be  attacked,  for  the  Confederates  were  within  five 
miles ;  but  we  were  as  safe  at  home  as  at  the  Asylum. 
He  was  a  very  handsome,  respectable-looking  man, 
though  dirty,  as  Yankee  soldiers  always  are,  and  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  besides.  We  thanked  him  for  his 
kindness,  and  went  on.  All  stopped  at  the  Brunots', 
to  see  that  they  were  ready  to  fly ;  but  the  two  parties 
were  so  tremendous  that  we  gladly  divided,  and 
Miriam  and  I  remained  with  them  until  they  could 
get  ready,  while  our  detachment  went  on. 

Wagons,  carts,  every  vehicle  imaginable,  passed 
on  to  places  of  safety,  loaded  with  valuables,  while 
women  and  children  hurried  on,  on  foot.  It  took 
the  Brunots  as  long  to  prepare  as  it  did  us.  I  had  to 
drag  Sophie  out  of  her  bed,  where  she  threw  herself, 
vowing  she  would  not  run ;  and  after  an  interminable 
length  of  time,  we  were  at  last  ready  and  started, 
with  the  addition  of  Mrs.  Loucks  and  her  sons  in  our 
train.  The  volunteer,  whose  sole  duty  seems  to  be  to 
watch  the  Brunots,  met  us  as  we  got  out.  He  stopped 
as  he  met  the  first,  looked  in  silence  until  Sophie  and 
I  passed,  and  then  burst  out  laughing.  No  wonder! 
What  a  walk  it  was!  Nobody  hesitated  to  laugh, 
even  though  they  meant  to  run  themselves,  and  we 
made  fun  of  each  other,  too,  so  our  walk  was  merry 
enough. 

When  we  reached  there,  the  Asylum  was  already 
crowded  —  at  least,  it  would  have  been  a  crowd  in 

128 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

any  other  place,  though  a  mere  handful  in  such  a 
building.  The  whole  house  was  illuminated,  up  to 
the  fifth  story,  and  we  were  most  graciously  received 
by  the  director,  who  had  thrown  the  whole  house 
open  to  whoever  chose  to  come,  and  exerted  himself 
to  be  accommodating.  It  looked  like  a  tremendous 
hotel  where  every  one  is  at  home;  not  a  servant  or 
one  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  children  was  to  be  seen; 
we  had  all  the  lower  story  to  ourselves.  Was  n't  it 
pleasant  to  unload,  and  deposit  all  things  in  a  place 
of  safety!  It  was  a  great  relief.  Then  we  five  girls 
walked  on  the  splendid  balcony  which  goes  around 
the  house  until  we  could  no  longer  walk,  when  I 
amused  myself  by  keeping  poor  Sophie  standing, 
since  she  would  not  sit  down  like  a  Christian,  but 
insisted  on  going  to  bed  like  a  lazy  girl,  as  she  is. 
When  I  finally  let  her  go,  it  did  not  take  her  many 
minutes  to  undress,  and  soon  we  were  all  ready  for 
bed.  The  Brunots  had  beds  on  the  parlor  floor ;  across 
the  wide  hall,  we  had  a  room  opposite;  and  next  to 
ours,  Lilly  and  the  children  were  all  sleeping  soundly. 
I  ran  the  blockade  of  the  hall  in  my  nightgown,  and 
had  a  splendid  romp  with  the  girls  after  rolling 
Sophie  out  of  bed,  and  jerking  Nettie  up.  Mother 
and  Mrs.  Brunot  cried,  "  Order,"  laughing,  but  they 
came  in  for  their  share  of  the  sport,  until  an  admiring 
crowd  of  females  at  the  door  told  us  by  their  amused 
faces  they  were  enjoying  it,  too;  so  I  ran  the  gaunt- 
let again,  and  got  safely  through  the  hall,  and  after 
a  few  more  inroads,  in  one  of  which  Miriam  accom- 

129 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

panied  me,  and  on  which  occasion  I  am  sure  we  were 
seen  in  our  nightgowns,  we  finally  went  to  bed.  I 
won't  say  went  to  sleep,  for  I  did  not  pretend  to  doze. 
All  our  side  of  the  house  had  bars,  except  me ;  and  the 
mosquitoes  were  unendurable;  so  I  watched  mother 
and  Miriam  in  their  downy  slumbers  and  lay  on  my 
hard  bed  for  hours,  fighting  the  torments  with  bare 
arms. 

Every  now  and  then  I  heard  a  stir  among  the  fe- 
males above,  indicating  that  some  few  were  antici- 
pating a  panic.  Once  they  took  a  rush  from  the  fourth 
story,  and  cried  they  heard  the  cannon ;  twenty  guns 
had  been  fired,  etc.  I  lay  still,  determined  not  to 
believe  it;  and  presently  all  subsided.  I  lay  there  for 
hours  longer,  it  seemed,  when  Nettie  at  last  wandered 
in  disconsolate  to  find  if  we  were  asleep;  for  with  the 
exception  of  Sophie,  they,  too,  had  been  awake  all 
night.  I  went  to  the  parlor  with  her,  when  she, 
Dena,  and  I,  decided  to  dress  at  once  and  sit  on  the 
balcony,  since  sleep  was  hopeless.  Behold  me  in  a 
blue  muslin  flounced  to  the  waist,  with  a  cape,  too ! 
What  a  running  costume!  Miriam  only  had  time  to 
take  off  her  white  dress  before  starting.  All  dressed, 
we  went  to  the  northwest  corner,  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  rest  of  the  household,  and  sat  in  a  splendid 
breeze  for  hours.  It  was  better  than  fighting  in- 
satiable mosquitoes ;  so  there  we  sat  talking  through 
the  greater  part  of  a  night  which  seemed  to  have 
borrowed  a  few  additional  hours  for]  our  benefit. 
We'll  have  no  Leap  Year  in  '64;  the  twenty-four 

130 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

extra  hours  were  crowded  in  on  'that  occasion,  I 
think. 

We  discussed  our  favorite  books,  characters,  au- 
thors, repeated  scraps  here  and  there  of  the  mock 
sentimental,  talked  of  how  we  would  one  day  like  to 
travel,  and  where  we  would  go;  discussed  love  and 
marriage,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  neither  was 
the  jest  it  was  thought  to  be.  (O  wise  young  women !) 
Poor  Nettie  retired  in  despair,  and  we  two  watched 
alone  for  hours  longer.  The  sun  must  have  been  ar- 
rested by  some  Joshua  on  the  road ;  could  n't  make  me 
believe  it  was  doing  its  duty  as  usual.  We  wandered 
around  the  balconies,  through  the  grounds  in  the 
dim  starlight  (for  it  was  cloudy),  and  finally,  be- 
holding a  faint  promise  of  morning,  sat  still  and 
waited  for  the  coming  of  the  lazy  sun.  What  was 
still  more  aggravating  was  that  every  time  we  looked 
in  at  the  others  showed  them  sleeping  peacefully. 
Miriam  lay  her  full  length  with  outstretched  arms, 
the  picture  of  repose,  looking  so  comfortable!  When 
the  sun  finally  made  his  appearance  (he  was  out  on  a 
spree,  I  found,  for  his  eyes  were  not  half  opened, 
and  he  looked  dull  and  heavy  as  he  peeped  from  be- 
hind his  bed  curtains),  others  began  to  stir,  and  in 
an  hour  more,  we  were  ready  to  leave.  Those  who 
had  slept,  came  out  with  swelled  eyes  and  drowsy 
looks;  while  we  three,  who  had  been  up  all  night, 
were  perfectly  calm,  though  rather  pale;  but  I  am 
seldom  otherwise. 

Were  we  not  thankful  to  see  home  still  standing ! 
131 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  did  not  feel  tired  much,  but  somehow,  when  it 
struck  half-past  six,  and  I  found  myself  alone  here 
(Miriam  having  stopped  at  Mrs.  Day's),  I  suddenly 
found  myself  divested  of  my  flounces,  and  most  other 
articles,  and  involuntarily  going  towards  the  bed.  I 
could  not  sleep,  wasn't  thinking  of  such  a  thing; 
meant  to  —  there  was  an  end  of  my  soliloquy ! 
Where  I  went,  I  don't  know.  As  the  clock  struck 
eight,  I  got  up  as  unaccountably,  and  discovered  I 
had  lost  all  idea  of  time  in  sleep.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  the  clock,  I  should  have  said  I  had  slept  a  day 
and  a  night,  and  it  was  now  Thursday  morning.  A 
giant  refreshed,  I  rose  from  my  slumbers,  took  a  hasty 
cup  of  coffee,  and  set  to  work  packing  Lilly's  trunk,  for 
I  was  crazy  to  see  the  children  off  as  soon  as  possible. 
It  was  no  short  work,  but  we  all  hurried,  said  good- 
bye, and  saw  them  go  with  a  feeling  of  relief.  By 
the  experience  of  the  night  before,  we  knew  that 
when  the  real  moment  came  it  would  be  impossible 
to  get  them  off  in  time  to  escape  danger.  Poor  Lilly ! 
we  miss  her  sadly;  but  are  thankful  to  know  that  she 
is  out  of  danger  with  her  poor  little  children.  She 
looked  heartbroken  at  the  idea  of  leaving  us  alone; 
but  then,  when  one  weak  woman  has  five  small 
babies  to  take  care  of,  is  it  fair  to  impose  three  big 
ones  on  her?  I  'd  never  stay  here,  if  she  sacrificed 
her  children  to  take  care  of  us  who  need  no  protection. 
I  was  very  lazy  after  they  left ;  and  sat  reading  until 
a  note  was  brought  from  Charlie  saying  they  were 
safe  beyond  the  lines. 

132 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Last  night  came  another  alarm.  Some  fifty  can- 
non were  fired  somewhere  above,  reports  came  that 
a  body  of  our  troops  were  a  few  miles  out,  so  a  thou- 
sand of  these  men  took  courage  and  went  out  to 
reconnoitre.  Mrs.  Brunot  and  mother  insisted  on 
going  again  to  the  Asylum  for  protection  against 
the  coming  attack,  though  we  at  first  begged  and 
pleaded  to  stay  at  home.  But  we  had  to  follow,  and 
I  don't  think  any  of  us  were  in  the  best  of  humors, 
as  we  were  all  conscious  of  doing  a  foolish  thing. 

We  were  cordially  received  again,  and  got  quite 
gay.  Sleeping  accommodations  no  better  than  be- 
fore, as  far  as  I  was  concerned.  Sophie,  Miriam,  and 
I  had  but  one  bar  between  us,  so  we  placed  two 
mattresses  side  by  side,  and  by  dint  of  chairs  and 
strings,  stretched  the  net  as  far  as  possible  over 
them.  Those  two  were  well  enough ;  but  to  my  share 
fell  a  baby's  mattress  two  feet  by  four,  placed  be- 
tween the  wall  and  the  other  great  bed,  with  the  end 
of  the  bar  a  foot  above  my  face,  and  one  sheet  to 
do  the  duty  of  two  —  however,  they  had  only  one, 
also.  Well!  I  believe  I  am  tall,  so  my  bed  did  not 
fit  me.  As  it  was  two  inches  higher  than  theirs,  there 
was  no  sharing.  In  spite  of  a  heavy  rain  that  was 
now  pouring,  my  warm  place  was  intolerable,  and 
the  perspiration  streamed  from  my  face  so  as  to  be 
disagreeable,  to  say  the  least.  It  drove  me  to  walk 
in  my  sleep,  I  am  afraid,  for  I  have  an  indistinct 
recollection  of  finding  myself  standing  at  the  window 
trying  to  breathe.   It  was  a  very,  very  little  piece  of 

,133 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

sleep  I  got  after  all,  and  that  little  by  no  means 
refreshing. 

Up  at  sunrise  again,  but  it  took  some  time  to  get 
ready,  for  I  had  to  get  some  clothes  out  of  the  trunk, 
to  send  home.  Well,  ever  since  I  reached  here  I  have 
been  writing,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  how  long  it  is. 
As  the  time  grows  more  exciting,  my  book  grows 
shorter,  to  my  great  distress.   What  will  I  do? 

We  all  vowed  that  would  be  the  last  time  we  would 
run  until  we  heard  the  cannon,  or  had  some  better 
reason  than  a  Yankee  panic  to  believe  the  Confed- 
erates were  coming ;  though  if  we  listened  to  mother, 
she  would  go  there  every  night  if  this  lasted  for  a 
whole  year.  Kind  Phillie  Nolan  wrote  insisting  on 
our  staying  with  them  on  the  plantation  until  it 
was  over,  but  we  cannot  do  it ;  the  time  is  too  uncer- 
tain ;  if  we  knew  it  was  to  come  this  week,  we  might 
stay  that  long  with  her;  but  to  go  for  an  indefinite 
period,  Miriam  and  I  would  not  hear  of. 

I  have  kept  for  the  last  a  piece  of  news  I  received 
with  thankfulness,  when  I  finally  heard  it;  for,  though 
known  to  the  whole  family  and  all  the  town  on 
Tuesday  night,  no  one  thought  it  worth  while  to 
tell  me  until  I  heard  it  by  accident  last  evening.  It 
was  that  a  Mr.  Bell,  writing  to  his  wife,  says  Gibbes 
asked  him  to  send  word  to  mother  that  he,  George, 
and  Jimmy  were  in  the  fight  of  the  ioth  and  nth, 
and  all  safe.   God  be  praised! 

July  25th. 

An  old  gentleman  stopped  here  just  now  in  a 
134 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

carriage  and  asked  to  see  me.  Such  a  sad,  sick  old 
man !  He  said  his  name  was  Caldwell,  and  that  pass- 
ing through  East  Feliciana,  Mrs.  Flynn  had  asked 
him  to  deliver  a  message  to  us.  Had  we  heard  from 
our  brothers?  I  told  him  the  message  from  Mr.  Bell. 
He  commenced  crying.  There  was  one  of  them,  he 
said,  who  got  hurt.  I  held  my  breath  and  looked  at 
him.  He  cried  more  still,  and  said  yes,  it  was  Gibbes 
—  in  the  hand  —  not  dangerous  —  but  —  Here  I 
thought  he  meant  to  tell  me  worse;  perhaps  he  was 
dead;  but  I  could  not  speak,  so  he  went  on  saying 
Lydia  and  the  General  had  gone  on  to  Richmond  in- 
stantly, and  had  probably  reached  there  before  to- 
day. He  took  so  long  to  tell  it,  and  he  cried  so,  that 
I  was  alarmed,  until  I  thought  perhaps  he  had  lost 
one  of  his  own  sons;  but  I  dared  not  ask  him.  Just 
then  one  of  the  horses  fell  down  with  sunstroke,  and 
I  begged  the  old  gentleman  to  come  in  and  rest  until 
they  could  raise  the  horse;  but  he  said  no,  he  must 
go  on  to  the  river.  He  looked  so  sick  that  I  could 
not  help  saying  he  looked  too  unwell  to  go  beyond, 
and  I  wished  he  would  come  in.  But  he  burst  into 
tears,  saying,  "  Yes,  my  child,  I  am  very,  very  sick, 
but  I  must  go  on."  Poor  old  man,  with  his  snow- 
white  beard ! 

July  27th. 

I  have  my  bird  back!  As  I  waked  this  morning, 
I  heard  a  well-known  chirp  in  the  streets,  and  called 
to  mother  I  knew  it  was  Jimmy.  Sure  enough  it  is 
my  bird.    Lucy  Daigre  has  had  him  ever  since  the 

135 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

shelling,  as  a  negro  caught  it  that  day  and  gave  it 

to  her. 

July  29th. 

This  town,  with  its  ten  thousand  soldiers,  is  more 
quiet  than  it  was  with  the  old  population  of  seven 
thousand  citizens.  With  this  tremendous  addition, 
it  is  like  a  graveyard  in  its  quiet,  at  times.  These 
poor  soldiers  are  dying  awfully.  Thirteen  went  yes- 
terday. On  Sunday  the  boats  discharged  hundreds 
of  sick  at  our  landing.  Some  lay  there  all  the  after- 
noon in  the  hot  sun,  waiting  for  the  wagon  to  carry 
them  to  the  hospital,  which  task  occupied  the  whole 
evening.  In  the  mean  time  these  poor  wretches  lay 
uncovered  on  the  ground,  in  every  stage  of  sickness. 
Cousin  Will  saw  one  lying  dead  without  a  creature 
by  to  notice  when  he  died.  Another  was  dying,  and 
muttering  to  himself  as  he  lay  too  far  gone  to  brush 
the  flies  out  of  his  eyes  and  mouth,  while  no  one  was 
able  to  do  it  for  him.  Cousin  Will  helped  him, 
though.  Another,  a  mere  skeleton,  lay  in  the  agonies 
of  death,  too;  but  he  evidently  had  kind  friends,  for 
several  were  gathered  around  holding  him  up,  and 
fanning  him,  while  his  son  leaned  over  him  crying 
aloud.  Tiche  says  it  was  dreadful  to  hear  the  poor 
boy's  sobs.  All  day  our  vis-d-vis,  Baumstark,  with 
his  several  aids,  plies  his  hammer;  all  day  Sunday 
he  made  coffins,  and  says  he  can't  make  them  fast 
enough.  Think,  too,  he  is  by  no  means  the  only 
undertaker  here!  Oh,  I  wish  these  poor  men  were 
safe  in  their  own  land !  It  is  heartbreaking  to  see  them 

136 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

die  here  like  dogs,  with  no  one  to  say  Godspeed. 
The  Catholic  priest  went  to  see  some,  sometime  ago, 
and  going  near  one  who  lay  in  bed,  said  some  kind 
thing,  when  the  man  burst  into  tears  and  cried, 
"Thank  God,  I  have  heard  one  kind  word  before  I 
die!"    In  a  few  minutes  the  poor  wretch  was  dead. 

July  31st. 

I  believe  I  forgot  to  mention  one  little  circumstance 
in  my  account  of  that  first  night  at  the  Deaf  and 
Dumb  Asylum,  which  at  the  time  struck  me  with 
extreme  disgust.  That  was  seeing  more  than  one 
man  who  had  no  females  or  babies  to  look  after,  who 
sought  there  a  refuge  from  the  coming  attack.  At 
daylight,  one  dapper  young  man,  in  fashionable 
array,  came  stepping  lightly  on  the  gallery,  carrying 
a  neat  carpet-bag  in  his  hand.  I  hardly  think  he  ex- 
pected to  meet  two  young  ladies  at  that  hour;  I 
shall  always  believe  he  meant  to  creep  away  before 
any  one  was  up ;  for  he  certainly  looked  embarrassed 
when  we  looked  up,  though  he  assumed  an  air  of 
indifference,  and  passed  by  bravely  swinging  his 
sack  —  but  I  think  he  wanted  us  to  believe  he  was 
not  ashamed.  I  dare  say  it  was  some  little  clerk  in 
his  holiday  attire;  but  I  can't  say  what  contempt  I 
felt  for  the  creature. 

Honestly,  I  believe  the  women  of  the  South  are  as 
brave  as  the  men  who  are  fighting,  and  certainly 
braver  than  the  "Home Guard."  I  have  not  yet  been 
able  to  coax  myself  into  being  as  alarmed  as  many 

137 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  could  name  are.  They  say  it  is  because  I  do  not 
know  the  danger.  Soit.  I  prefer  being  brave  through 
ignorance,  to  being  afraid  in  consequence  of  my 
knowledge  of  coming  events.  Thank  Heaven,  my 
brothers  are  the  bravest  of  the  brave!  I  would 
despise  them  if  they  shrunk  back,  though  Lucifer 
should  dispute  the  path  with  them.  Well!  All  men 
are  not  Morgan  boys!  They  tell  me  cowards  actu- 
ally exist,  though  I  hope  I  never  met  one.  The  poor 
men  that  went  to  the  Asylum  for  safety  might  not 
have  what  Lavinia  calls  "a  moral  backbone."  No 
wonder,  then,  they  tumbled  in  there !  Besides,  I  am 
told  half  the  town  spent  the  night  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  on  that  occasion;  and  perhaps  these  unfortu- 
nates were  subject  to  colds,  and  preferred  the  shelter 
of  a  good  roof.  Poor  little  fellows !  How  I  longed  to 
give  them  my  hoops,  corsets,  and  pretty  blue 
organdie  in  exchange  for  their  boots  and  breeches! 
Only  I  thought  it  was  dangerous;  for  suppose  the 
boots  had  been  so  used  to  running  that  they  should 
prance  off  with  me,  too?  Why,  it  would  ruin  my  rep- 
utation! Miss  Morgan  in  petticoats  is  thought  to  be 
"as  brave  as  any  other  man";  but  these  borrowed 
articles  might  make  her  fly  as  fast  "as  any  other 
man,"  too,  if  panic  is  contagious,  as  the  Yankees 
here  have  proved.  One  consolation  is,  that  all  who 
could  go  with  any  propriety,  and  all  who  were  worthy 
of  fighting,  among  those  who  believed  in  the  South, 
are  off  at  the  seat  of  war;  it  is  only  trash,  and  those 
who  are  obliged  to  remain  for  private  reasons,  who 

138 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary  ' 

still  remain.    Let  us  count  those  young  individuals 

as  trash,  and  step  over  them.  Only  ask  Heaven  why 

you  were  made  with  a  man's  heart,  and  a  female 

form,  and  those  creatures  with  beards  were  made  as 

bewitchingly  nervous? 

August  2d,  Saturday. 

I  had  thought  my  running  days  were  over;  so 
little  did  I  anticipate  another  stampede  that  I  did 
not  notice  the  report  of  the  attack  that  was  prophe- 
sied for  night  before  last,  and  went  to  bed  without 
gathering  my  clothes.  But  to-day  comes  a  hasty 
note  from  Charlie,  telling  us  to  leave  instantly  as 
General  Breckinridge  is  advancing  with  ten  thou- 
sand men  to  attack  us,  and  at  12  M.  yesterday  was 
within  thirty-four  miles.  He  begged  us  to  leave  to- 
day ;  there  would  be  trouble  before  to-morrow  night. 
It  was  so  earnest,  and  he  asserted  all  so  positively, 
that  we  are  going  to  Phillie's  this  evening  to  stay  a 
week,  as  they  say  eight  days  will  decide.  Ah,  me! 
our  beautiful  town!  Still  I  am  skeptical.  If  it  must 
be,  pray  Heaven  that  the  blow  comes  now !  Nothing 
can  be  equal  to  suspense.  These  poor  men !  Are  they 
not  dying  fast  enough?  Will  Baumstark  have  orders 
for  an  unlimited  supply  of  coffins  next  week?  Only 
Charlie's  family,  ours,  and  the  Brunots  know  it. 
He  enjoined  the  strictest  secrecy,  though  the  Brunots 
sent  to  swear  Mrs.  Loucks  in,  as  she,  like  ourselves, 
has  no  protector.  I  would  like  to  tell  everybody; 
but  it  will  warn  the  Federals.  I  almost  wish  we,  too, 
had  been  left  in  ignorance;  it  is  cruel  to  keep  it  to 

139 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ourselves.  I  believe  the  Yankees  expect  something; 
"they  say  "  they  have  armed  fifteen  hundred  negroes. 
Foes  and  insurrection  in  town,  assailing  friends  out- 
side. —  Nice  time ! 

Our  cavalry  has  passed  the  Amite.  Poor  Charlie 
has  come  all  the  way  to  the  ferry  landing  on  the  other 
side  to  warn  us.  If  we  do  not  take  advantage,  it 
will  not  be  for  want  of  knowing  what  is  to  come. 
How  considerate  it  was  in  him  to  come  such  a  long 
way !  I  am  charmingly  excited !  If  I  only  had  a  pair 
of  breeches,  my  happiness  would  be  complete.  Let 
it  come!  I  lose  all,  but  in  Heaven's  name  let  us  have 
it  over  at  once !  My  heart  fails  when  I  look  around, 
but  "Spit  fire!"  and  have  an  end  to  this  at  once! 
Liberty  forever,  though  death  be  the  penalty. 

Treason !  Here  lies  my  pass  at  my  elbow,  in  which 
has  been  gratuitously  inserted  that  "  Parties  holding 
it  are  considered  to  give  their  parole  not  to  give  in- 
formation, countenance,  aid,  or  support  to  the  so- 
called  Confed.  S. "  As  I  did  not  apply  for  it,  agree 
to  the  stipulation,  or  think  it  by  any  means  proper, 
I  don't  consider  it  binding.  I  could  not  give  my  word 
for  doing  what  my  conscience  tells  me  is  Right.  I 
cross  with  this  book  full  of  treason.  It  "counte- 
nances" the  C.  S.;  shall  I  burn  it?  That  is  a  stupid 
ruse ;  they  are  too  wise  to  ask  you  to  subscribe  to  it, 

they  just  append  it. 

August  3d,  Westover. 

Enfin  nous  sommes  arrivees!  And  after  what  a 
trip!  As  we  reached  the  ferry,  I  discovered  I  had  lost 

140 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

the  pass,  and  had  to  walk  back  and  search  for  it, 
aided  by  Mr.  Tunnard,  who  met  me  in  my  distress, 
as  it  has  always  been  his  luck  to  do.  But  somebody 
had  already  adopted  the  valuable  trifle,  so  I  had  to 
rejoin  mother  and  Miriam  without  it.  The  guard 
resolutely  refused  to  let  us  pass  until  we  got  another, 
so  off  flew  Mr.  Tunnard  to  procure  a  second  —  which 
was  vastly  agreeable,  as  I  knew  he  would  have  to 
pay  twenty-five  cents  for  it,  Yankees  having  come 
down  as  low  as  that,  to  procure  money.  But  he  had 
gone  before  we  could  say  anything,  and  soon  returned 
with  the  two-bits'  worth  of  leave  of  absence.  Then 
we  crossed  the  river  in  a  little  skiff  after  sundown,  in 
a  most  unpleasant  state  of  uncertainty  as  to  whether 
the  carriage  was  waiting  at  the  landing  for  us,  for  I 
did  not  know  if  Phillie  had  received  my  note,  and 
there  was  no  place  to  go  if  she  had  not  sent  for  us. 
However,  we  found  it  waiting,  and  leaving  mother 
and  Miriam  to  pay  the  ferry,  I  walked  on  to  put  our 
bundles  in  the  carriage.  A  man  stepped  forward, 
calling  me  by  name  and  giving  me  a  note  from 
Charlie  before  I  reached  it ;  and  as  I  placed  my  foot 
on  the  step,  another  came  up  and  told  me  he  had  left 
a  letter  at  home  for  me  at  one  o'clock.  I  bowed  Yes 
(it  was  from  Howell;  must  answer  to-morrow).  He 
asked  me  not  to  mention  it  was  "him" ;  a  little  serv- 
ant had  asked  his  name,  but  he  told  her  it  was  none 
of  her  business.  I  laughed  at  the  refined  remark,  and 
said  I  had  not  known  who  it  was  —  he  would  hardly 
have  been  flattered  to  hear  I  had  not  even  inquired. 

141 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary  ' 

He  modestly  said  that  he  was  afraid  I  had  seen  him 
through  the  window.  Oh,  no !  I  assured  him.  "Well, 
please,  anyhow,  don't  say  it's  me!"  he  pleaded  most 
grammatically.  I  answered,  smiling,  "  I  did  not  know 
who  it  was  then,  I  know  no  more  now,  and  if  you 
choose,  I  shall  always  remain  in  ignorance  of  tyour 
identity.  "He  burst  out  laughing,  and  went  off  with, 
"Oh,  do,  Miss  Morgan,  forget  all  about  me!"  as 
though  it  was  a  difficult  matter!  Who  can  he  be? 

We  had  a  delightful  drive  in  the  moonlight, 
though  it  was  rather  long;  and  it  was  quite  late  when 
we  drove  up  to  the  house,  and  were  most  cordially 
welcomed  by  the  family.  We  sat  up  late  on  the  bal- 
cony listening  for  the  report  of  cannon,  which,  how- 
ever, did  not  come.  Baton  Rouge  is  to  be  attacked 
to-morrow,  "they  say."  Pray  Heaven  it  will  all  be 
over  by  that  time !  Nobody  seems  to  doubt  it,  over 
here.  A  while  ago  a  long  procession  of  guerrillas 
passed  a  short  distance  from  the  house,  looking  for  a 
party  of  Yankees  they  heard  of  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  waved  their  hats,  for  lack  of  handkerchiefs,  to 
us  as  we  stood  on  the  balcony. 

I  call  this  writing  under  difficulties!  Here  I  am  em- 
ploying my  knee  as  a  desk,  a  position  that  is  not  very 
natural  to  me,  and  by  no  means  comfortable.  I  feel 
so  stupid,  from  want  of  sleep  last  night,  that  no  won- 
der I  am  not  even  respectably  bright.  I  think  I  shall 
lay  aside  this  diary  with  my  pen.  I  have  procured 
a  nicer  one,  so  I  no  longer  regret  its  close.  What  a 
stupid  thing  it  is!  As  I  look  back,  how  faintly  have 

142 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  expressed  things  that  produced  the  greatest  im- 
pression on  me  at  the  time,  and  how  completely  have 
I  omitted  the  very  things  I  should  have  recorded! 
Bah !  it  is  all  the  same  trash !  And  here  is  an  end  of 
it  —  for  this  volume,  whose  stupidity  can  only  be 
equaled  by  the  one  that  precedes,  and  the  one  that 
is  to  follow  it.  But  who  expects  to  be  interesting  in 
war  times?  If  I  kept  a  diary  of  events,  it  would  be 
one  tissue  of  lies.  Think!  There  was  no  battle  on 
the  ioth  or  nth,  McClellan  is  not  dead,  and  Gibbes 
was  never  wounded!  After  that,  who  believes  in 
reliable  information?   Not  I! 


BOOK   III 

Westover, 

Monday,  August  4th,  1862. 

Here  we  are  at  Dr.  Nolan's  plantation,  with  Baton 
Rouge  lying  just  seven  miles  from  us  to  the  east.  We 
can  surely  hear  the  cannon  from  here.  They  are  all 
so  kind  to  us  that  I  ought  to  be  contented;  but  still 
I  wish  I  was  once  more  at  home.  I  suppose  it  is  very 
unreasonable  in  me,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  miss  my 
old  desk  very  much ;  it  is  so  awkward  to  write  on  my 
knee  that  I  cannot  get  used  to  it.  Mine  is  a  nice 
little  room  upstairs,  detached  from  all  the  rest,  for 
it  is  formed  by  a  large  dormer  window  looking  to 
the  north,  from  which  I  have  seen  a  large  number  of 
guerrillas  passing  and  repassing  in  their  rough  cos- 
tumes, constantly.  I  enjoy  the  fresh  air,  and  all 
that,  but  pleasant  as  it  is,  I  wish  I  was  at  home  and 
all  the  fuss  was  over.  Virginia  Nolan  and  Miriam 
are  already  equipped  in  their  riding  costumes,  so  I 
must  lay  this  down  and  get  ready  to  join  them  in  a 
scamper  across  the  fields.    How  delighted  I  will  be 

to  get  on  a  horse  again. 

August  5th. 

About  half-past  nine,  as  we  got  up  from  the  break- 
fast table,  a  guerrilla  told  us  the  ram  Arkansas  was 
lying  a  few  miles  below,  on  her  way  to  cooperate 
with  Breckinridge,  whose  advance  guard  had  already 

144 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

driven  the  pickets  into  Baton  Rouge.    Then  we  all 
grew  wild  with  excitement. 

Such  exclamations!  such  delight  that  the  dread- 
ful moment  had  at  last  arrived !  And  yet  you  could 
see  each  stop  as  we  rejoiced,  to  offer  up  a  prayer  for 
the  preservation  of  those  who  were  risking  their 
lives  at  that  moment.  Reason,  and  all  else,  was 
thrown  aside,  and  we  determined  to  participate  in 
the  danger,  if  there  was  any  to  be  incurred.  Mother 
threatened  us  with  shot  and  shell  and  bloody  murder, 
but  the  loud  report  of  half  a  dozen  cannon  in  slow 
succession  only  made  us  more  determined  to  see  the 
fun,  so  Lilly  Nolan  and  Miss  Walters  got  on  horse- 
back, and  Phillie,  Ginnie,  Miriam,  and  I  started  off 
in  the  broiling  sun,  leaving  word  for  the  carriage  to 
overtake  us.  When  we  once  got  in,  the  driver,  being 
as  crazy  as  we,  fairly  made  his  horses  run  along  the 
road  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  our  Ram.  When,  miles 
below,  she  came  in  sight,  we  could  no  longer  remain 
in  the  carriage,  but  mounted  the  levee,  and  ran  along 
on  foot  until  we  reached  her,  when  we  crossed  to 
the  outer  levee,  and  there  she  lay  at  our  feet. 

And  nothing  in  her  after  all !  There  lay  a  heavy, 
clumsy,  rusty,  ugly  flatboat  with  a  great  square  box 
in  the  centre,  while  great  cannon  put  their  noses  out 
at  the  sides,  and  in  front.  The  decks  were  crowded 
with  men,  rough  and  dirty,  jabbering  and  hastily 
eating  their  breakfast.  That  was  the  great  Arkansas ! 
God  bless  and  protect  her,  and  the  brave  men  she 
carries. 

145 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

While  there,  a  young  man  came  up,  and  in  answer 
to  Phillie's  inquiries  about  her  father  —  who,  hav- 
ing gone  to  town  yesterday  to  report,  being  paroled, 
had  written  last  night  to  say  no  passes  were  granted 
to  leave  town  —  the  young  fellow  informed  her  so 
pleasantly  that  her  father  was  a  prisoner,  held  as 
hostage  for  Mr.  Castle.  Poor  Phillie  had  to  cry;  so, 
to  be  still  more  agreeable,  he  told  her,  Yes,  he  had 
been  sent  to  a  boat  lying  at  the  landing,  and  ran  the 
greatest  risk,  as  the  ram  would  probably  sink  the  said 
boat  in  a  few  hours.  How  I  hated  the  fool  for  his 
relish  of  evil  tidings! 

But  never  mind  our  wild  expedition,  or  what  came 
of  it.  Am  I  not  patient !  Ever  since  I  commenced  to 
write,  the  sound  of  a  furious  bombardment  has  been 
ringing  in  my  ears ;  and  beyond  an  occasional  run  to 
see  the  shells  fly  through  the  air  (their  white  smoke, 
rather)  I  have  not  said  a  word  of  it.  The  girls  have 
all  crowded  on  the  little  balcony  up  here,  towards 
town,  and  their  shrieks  of  "There  it  goes!"  "Lis- 
ten!" "Look  at  them!"  rise  above  the  sound  of  the 
cannon,  and  occasionally  draw  me  out,  too.  But  I  sit 
here  listening,  and  wonder  which  report  precedes  the 
knocking  down  of  our  home;  which  shell  is  killing 
some  one  I  know  and  love.  Poor  Tiche  and  Dophy ! 
—  where  are  they?  And  oh,  I  hope  they  did  not  leave 
my  birdie  Jimmy  to  die  in  his  cage.  I  charged  them 
to  let  him  loose  if  they  could  not  carry  him.  Dophy 
will  be  so  frightened.  I  hope  they  are  out  of  danger. 
Oh,  my  dear  home!  shall  I  ever  see  you  again?  And 

146 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

the  Brunots!  Oh,  how  I  hope  they  are  safe.  These 
loud  cannon  make  me  heartsick,  and  yet  I  am  so 
excited !  How  rapidly  they  answer  each  other !  I  am 
told  the  attack  commenced  at  five  this  morning, 
and  lasted  three  hours.  Those  girls  are  shouting  that 
Baton  Rouge  must  be  on  fire,  from  the  volume  of 
smoke  in  that  direction.  How  they  scream  as  the 
balls  go  up,  to  show  it  to  each  other.  I  think  I'll 
take  a  look,  too. 

We  are  all  going  four  or  five  miles  through  this 

warm  sun  to  be  nearer  the  scene  of  action.  Any  one 

might  know  there  was  no  white  man  on  the  premises. 

There  is  the  carriage!  Oh,  I  am  so  seasick!  What  will 

I  be  before  we  get  back? 

August  6th. 

We  six  madcaps  got  in  the  carriage  and  buggy,  and 
rode  off  in  search  of  news.  We  took  a  quantity  of  old 
linen  rags  along,  and  during  the  whole  drive,  our 
fingers  were  busy  making  lint.  Once  we  stopped  at  a 
neighbor's  to  gather  the  news,  but  that  did  not 
interfere  with  our  labors  at  all.  Four  miles  from  here 
we  met  a  crowd  of  women  flying,  and  among  them 
recognized  Mrs.  La  Noue  and  Noemie.  A  good  deal 
of  loud  shouting  brought  them  to  the  carriage  in 
great  surprise  to  see  us  there.  They  were  running 
from  the  plantation  where  they  had  taken  refuge,  as 
it  was  not  safe  from  the  shells,  as  the  gunboats  had 
proved  to  them.  The  reports  we  had  heard  in  the 
morning  were  from  shots  fired  on  this  side  of  the  river 

147 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

by  them,  in  hopes  of  hurting  a  guerrilla  or  two. 
No6mie  told  us  that  two  Western  regiments  had  laid 
down  their  arms,  and  General  Williams  had  been 
killed  by  his  own  men.  She  looked  so  delighted,  and 
yet  it  made  me  sick  to  think  of  his  having  been 
butchered  so.  Phillie  leaned  out,  and  asked  her,  as 
she  asked  everybody,  if  she  knew  anything  about  her 
father.  Noemie,  in  her  rapture  over  that  poor  man's 
death,  exclaimed,  "Don't  know  a  word  about  him! 
know  Williams  was  cut  to  pieces,  though!"  —  and 
that  is  all  we  could  learn  from  her. 

We  went  on  until  we  came  in  sight  of  Baton  Rouge. 
There  it  stood,  looking  so  beautiful  against  the  black, 
lowering  sky  that  I  could  not  but  regret  its  fate.  We 
could  see  the  Garrison,  State  House,  Asylum,  and  all 
that;  but  the  object  of  the  greatest  interest  to  me  was 
the  steeple  of  the  Methodist  church,  for  to  the  right 
of  it  lay  home.  While  looking  at  it,  a  negro  passed 
who  was  riding  up  and  down  the  coast  collecting  lint, 
so  I  gave  him  all  we  had  made,  and  commenced  some 
more.  Presently,  we  met  Mr.  Phillips,  to  whom 
Phillie  put  the  same  question.  "  He  is  on  the  Laurel 
Hill  a  prisoner  —  Confound  that  negro !  where  did 
he  go?  "  And  so  on,  each  answer  as  far  as  concerned 
her,  seeming  a  labor,  but  the  part  relating  to  the 
servant  very  hearty.  Poor  Phillie  complained  that 
everybody  was  selfish  —  thought  only  of  their  own 
affairs,  and  did  not  sympathize  with  her.  "Yes, 
my  dear,"  I  silently  assented;  for  it  was  very  true; 
every  one  seemed  to  think  of  their  own  interests 

148 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

alone.  It  was  late  before  we  got  home,  and  then 
we  had  great  fun  in  watching  shells  which  we  could 
dimly  trace  against  the  clouds,  falling  in  what  must 
have  been  the  Garrison.  Then  came  a  tremendous 
fire,  above,  which  may  have  been  a  boat  —  I  don't 
know. 

I  hear  a  tremendous  firing  again,  and  from  the 
two  volumes  of  smoke,  should  judge  it  was  the 
Arkansas  and  the  Essex  trying  their  strength  at  a  dis- 
tance. We  are  going  down  to  see  what's  the  fun.  It 
would  be  absurd  to  record  all  the  rumors  that  have 
reached  us,  since  we  can  rely  on  none.  They  say  we 
fought  up  to  nine  last  night,  and  occupied  the  Garri- 
son for  five  minutes,  when  the  shells  forced  us  to 
abandon  it.  Also  that  four  regiments  laid  down  their 
arms,  that  the  Federals  were  pursued  by  our  men 
to  the  river,  driven  to  the  gunboats,  and  pushed  off 
to  prevent  the  Western  men  from  coming  aboard. 
An  eye-witness,  from  this  side,  reports  that  General 
Williams,  "  they  say,"  was  forcibly  held  before  a 
cannon  and  blown  to  pieces.  For  the  sake  of  human- 
ity, I  hope  this  is  false. 

Oh,  what  a  sad  day  this  is  for  our  country !  Mother 
disapproved  so  of  our  going  to  the  levee  to  see  the 
fight,  that  we  consented  to  remain,  though  Miriam 
and  Ginnie  jumped  into  the  buggy  and  went  off 
alone.  Presently  came  tidings  that  all  the  planters 
near  Baton  Rouge  were  removing  their  families 
and  negroes,  and  that  the  Yankees  were  to  shell  the 
whole  coast,  from  there  up  to  here.    Then  Phillie, 

149 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Lilly  (Nolan),  and  I  jumped  in  —  the  carriage  that 
was  still  waiting,  and  ran  after  the  others  to  bring 
them  back  before  they  got  in  danger ;  but  when  we 
reached  the  end  of  the  long  lane,  we  saw  them  stand- 
ing on  the  high  levee,  wringing  their  hands  and  crying. 
We  sprang  out  and  joined  them,  and  there,  way  at 
the  bend,  lay  the  Arkansas  on  fire !  All  except  myself 
burst  into  tears  and  lamentations,  and  prayed  aloud 
between  their  sobs.  I  had  no  words  or  tears ;  I  could 
only  look  at  our  sole  hope  burning,  going,  and  pray 
silently.  Oh,  it  was  so  sad!  Think,  it  was  our  sole 
dependence !  And  we  five  girls  looked  at  her  as  the 
smoke  rolled  over  her,  watched  the  flames  burst 
from  her  decks,  and  the  shells  as  they  exploded  one 
by  one  beneath  the  water,  coming  up  in  jets  of 
steam.  And  we  watched  until  down  the  road  we  saw 
crowds  of  men  toiling  along  toward  us.  Then  we  knew 
they  were  those  who  had  escaped,  and  the  girls  sent 
up  a  shriek  of  pity. 

On  they  came,  dirty,  half-dressed,  some  with  only 
their  guns,  others,  a  few,  with  bundles  and  knap- 
sacks on  their  backs,  grimy  and  tired,  but  still 
laughing.  We  called  to  the  first,  and  asked  if  the  boat 
were  really  afire;  they  shouted,  "Yes,"  and  went  on, 
talking  still.  Presently  one  ran  up  and  told  us  the 
story.  How  yesterday  their  engine  had  broken,  and 
how  they  had  labored  all  day  to  repair  it;  how  they 
had  succeeded,  and  had  sat  by  their  guns  all  night; 
and  this  morning,  as  they  started  to  meet  the  Essex, 
the  other  engine  had  broken ;  how  each  officer  wrote 

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FACSIMILE   OF    A    PAGE   FROM    THE   DIARY 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

his  opinion  that  it  was  impossible  to  fight  her  with  any 
hope  of  success  under  such  circumstances,  and  ad- 
vised the  Captain  to  abandon  her;  how  they  had 
resolved  to  do  so,  had  exchanged  shots  with  the  Essex 
across  the  point,  and  the  first  of  the  latter  (only  one, 
also)  had  set  ours  afire,  when  the  men  were  ordered 
to  take  their  side  arms.  They  thought  it  was  to  board 
the  Essex,  assembled  together,  when  the  order  was 
given  to  fire  the  Arkansas  and  go  ashore,  which  was 
done  in  a  few  minutes.  Several  of  the  crew  were 
around  us  then,  and  up  and  down  the  road  they  were 
scattered  still  in  crowds. 

Miriam  must  have  asked  the  name  of  some  of  the 
officers;  for  just  then  she  called  to  me,  " He  says  that 
is  Mr.  Read ! "  I  looked  at  the  foot  of  the  levee,  and 
saw  two  walking  together.  I  hardly  recognized  the 
gentleman  I  was  introduced  to  on  the  McRae  in  the 
one  that  now  stood  below  me  in  rough  sailor  pants,  a 
pair  of  boots,  and  a  very  thin  and  slazy  lisle  under- 
shirt. That  is  all  he  had  on,  except  an  old  straw  hat, 
and  —  yes !  he  held  a  primer !  I  did  not  think  it 
would  be  embarrassing  to  him  to  meet  me  under 
such  circumstances;  I  only  thought  of  Jimmy's 
friend  as  escaping  from  a  sad  fate;  so  I  rushed  down 
a  levee  twenty  feet  high,  saying,  "O  Mr.  Read! 
You  won't  recognize  me,  but  I  am  Jimmy's  sister!" 
He  blushed  modestly,  shook  my  hand  as  though  we 
were  old  friends,  and  assured  me  he  remembered 
me,  was  glad  to  meet  me,  etc.  Then  Miriam  came 
down  and  talked  to  him,  and  then  we  went  to  the 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

top  of  the  levee  where  the  rest  were,  and  watched 
the  poor  Arkansas  burn. 

By  that  time  the  crowd  that  had  gone  up  the  road 
came  back,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  the  centre  of 
two  hundred  men,  just  we  five  girls,  talking  with  the 
officers  around  us  as  though  they  were  old  friends. 
You  could  only  guess  they  were  officers,  for  a  dirtier, 
more  forlorn  set  I  never  saw.  Not  dirty  either ;  they 
looked  clean,  considering  the  work  they  had  been 
doing.  Nobody  introduced  anybody  else;  we  all 
felt  like  brothers  and  sisters  in  our  common  calamity. 
There  was  one  handsome  Kentuckian,  whose  name  I 
soon  found  to  be  Talbot,  who  looked  charmingly  pic- 
turesque in  his  coarse  cottonade  pants,  white  shirt, 
straw  hat,  black  hair,  beard,  and  eyes,  with  rosy 
cheeks.  He  was  a  graduate  of  the  Naval  Academy 
some  years  ago.  Then  another  jolly-faced  young 
man  from  the  same  Academy,  pleased  me,  too.  He, 
the  doctor,  and  the  Captain,  were  the  only  ones  who 
possessed  a  coat  in  the  whole  crowd,  the  few  who 
saved  theirs  carrying  them  over  their  arms.  Mr.  Read 
more  than  once  blushingly  remarked  that  they  were 
prepared  to  fight,  and  hardly  expected  to  meet  us; 
but  we  pretended  to  think  there  was  nothing  un- 
usual in  his  dress.  I  can  understand,  though,  that  he 
should  feel  rather  awkward;  I  would  not  like  to 
meet  him,  if  I  was  in  the  same  costume. 

They  all  talked  over  their  loss  cheerfully,  as  far 
as  the  loss  of  money,  watches,  clothes,  were  con- 
cerned ;  but  they  were  disheartened  about  their  boat. 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

One  threw  himself  down  near  my  feet,  saying,  "Me 
voild.  I  have  saved  my  gun,  et  puis  the  clothes  that 
I  stand  in!"  and  laughed  as  though  it  were  an  excel- 
lent joke.  One  who  had  been  on  the  Merrimac 
chiefly  regretted  the  loss  of  the  commission  appoint- 
ing him  there,  though  he  had  not  saved  a  single 
article.  The  one  with  the  jolly  face  told  me  Will 
Pinckney  was  among  those  attacking  Baton  Rouge, 
and  assured  him  he  expected  to  take  supper  there  last 
night.  He  thought  it  would  be  with  us,  I  know!  I 
hope  he  is  safe! 

After  a  while  the  men  were  ordered  to  march  up 
the  lane,  to  some  resting  spot  it  is  best  not  to  men- 
tion here,  and  straggled  off;  but  there  were  many 
sick  among  them,  one  wounded  at  Vicksburg,  and 
we  instantly  voted  to  walk  the  mile  and  three  quar- 
ters home,  and  give  them  the  carriage  and  buggy.  But 
long  after  they  left,  we  stood  with  our  new  friends 
on  the  levee  watching  the  last  of  the  Arkansas,  and 
saw  the  Essex,  and  two  gunboats  crowded  with  men, 
cautiously  turn  the  point,  and  watch  her  burn.  What 
made  me  furious  was  the  thought  of  the  glowing 
accounts  they  would  give  of  their  "capture  of 
the  Arkansas! ! !"  Capture,  and  they  fired  a  shot 
apiece !  —  for  all  the  firing  we  heard  was  the  dis- 
charge of  her  guns  by  the  flames.  We  saw  them  go 
back  as  cautiously,  and  I  was  furious,  knowing  the 
accounts  they  would  publish  of  what  we  ourselves 
had  destroyed.  We  had  seen  many  shells  explode, 
and  one  magazine,  and  would  have  waited  for  the 

153 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

other,  if  the  clouds  had  not  threatened  rain  speedily. 
But  we  had  to  leave  her  a  mere  wreck,  still  burning, 
and  started  off  on  our  long  walk. 

In  our  hurry,  I  had  brought  neither  handkerchief 
nor  gloves,  but  hardly  missed  either,  I  was  so  excited. 
Mr.  Talbot  walked  home  with  me,  and  each  of  the 
others  with  some  one  else.  He  had  a  small  bundle 
and  a  sword,  and  the  latter  I  insisted  on  carrying. 
It  was  something,  to  shoulder  a  sword  made  for  use 
rather  than  for  ornament!  So  I  would  carry  it.  He 
said  "he  would  remember  who  had  carried  it,  and 
the  recollection  would  give  it  a  new  value  in  his  eyes, 
and  I  might  rest  assured  it  should  never  be  disgraced 
after  that"  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  of  course,  as 
it  is  usual  to  say  it  on  such  occasions.  But  I  shoul- 
dered the  sword  bravely,  determined  to  show  my 
appreciation  of  the  sacrifice  they  had  made  for  us, 
in  coming  to  our  rescue  on  a  boat  they  had  every 
reason  to  believe  was  unsafe.  I  liked  Mr.  Talbot! 
He  made  himself  very  agreeable  in  that  long  walk. 
He  asked  permission  to  send  me  a  trophy  from  the 
first  action  in  which  he  used  "that"  sword,  and 
did  rit  I  say  yes !  He  thought  Southern  men  had 
every  encouragement  in  the  world,  from  the  fact 
that  the  ladies  welcomed  them  with  great  kindness 
in  victory  or  defeat,  insinuating  he  thought  they 
hardly  deserved  our  compassion  after  their  failure 
on  the  Arkansas.  But  I  stoutly  denied  that  it  was 
a  failure.  Had  they  not  done  their  best?  Was  it  their 
fault  the  machinery  broke?    And  in  defeat  or  vic- 

154 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tory,  were  they  not  still  fighting  for  us?  Were  we  the 
less  grateful  when  they  met  with  reverse?  Oh, 
did  n't  I  laud  the  Southern  men  with  my  whole 
heart! — and  I  think  he  felt  better  for  it,  too!  Yes! 
I  like  him! 

We  all  met  at  the  steps,  and  water  was  given  to 
our  cavaliers,  who  certainly  enjoyed  it.  We  could 
not  ask  them  in,  as  Dr.  Nolan  is  on  his  parole;  but 
Phillie  intimated  that  if  they  chose  to  order,  they 
might  do  as  they  pleased,  as  women  could  not  resist 
armed  men!  So  they  took  possession  of  the  sugar- 
house,  and  helped  themselves  to  something  to  eat, 
and  were  welcome  to  do  it,  since  no  one  could  pre- 
vent! But  they  first  stood  talking  on  the  balcony, 
gayly ,  and  we  parted  with  many  warm  wishes  on  both 
sides,  insisting  that,  if  they  assisted  at  a  second  at- 
tack on  Baton  Rouge,  they  must  remember  our  house 
was  at  their  service,  wounded  or  in  health.  And  they 
all  shook  hands  with  us,  and  looked  pleased,  and 
said  "God  bless  you,"  and  " Good-bye." 

Evening. 
I  heard  a  while  ago,  the  doctor  of  the  Ram,  who 
brought  back  the  buggy,  say  the  Arkansas's  crew 
were  about  leaving;  so  remembering  poor  Mr.  Read 
had  lost  everything,  mother,  suggesting  he  might 
need  money,  gave  me  twenty  dollars  to  put  in  his 
hands,  as  some  slight  help  towards  reaching  his  des- 
tination. Besides,  coming  from  Jimmy's  mother, 
he  could  not  have  been  hurt.  But  when  I  got  down, 

155 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

he  was  far  up  the  lane,  walking  too  fast  for  me  to 
overtake  him ;  then  I  tried  to  catch  Mr.  Stephenson, 
to  give  it  to  him  for  me,  but  failed.  Presently,  we 
saw  I  am  afraid  to  say  how  many  wagons  loaded  with 
them,  coming  from  the  sugar-house;  so  Phillie, 
Lilly,  and  I  snatched  up  some  five  bottles  of  gin, 
between  us,  and  ran  out  to  give  it  to  them.  A  rough 
old  sailor  received  mine  with  a  flood  of  thanks,  and 
the  others  gave  theirs  to  those  behind.  An  officer 
rode  up  saying,  "Ladies,  there  is  no  help  for  it! 
The  Yankee  cavalry  are  after  us,  and  we  must  fight 
them  in  the  corn.  Take  care  of  yourselves!"  We 
shouted  "Yes!"  told  them  to  bring  in  the  wounded 
and  we  would  nurse  them.  Then  the  men  cried, 
"God  bless  you,"  and  we  cried,  "Hurrah  for  the 
Arkansas's  crew,"  and  "Fight  for  us!"  Altogether 
it  was  a  most  affecting  scene.  Phillie,  seeing  how 
poorly  armed  they  were,  suggested  a  gun,  which  I 
flew  after  and  delivered  to  a  rough  old  tar.  When  I 
got  out,  the  cart  then  passing  held  Mr.  Talbot, 
who  smiled  benignly  and  waved  his  hat  like  the  rest. 
He  looked  still  better  in  his  black  coat,  but  the  carts 
reminded  me  of  what  the  guillotine  days  must  have 
been  in  France.  He  shouted  "Good-bye,"  we  shouted 
"Come  to  us,  if  you  are  wounded";  he  smiled  and 
bowed,  and  I  cried,  "  Use  that  sword!"  —  where- 
upon he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  grasped  the  hilt  as 
though  about  to  commence.  Then  came  other  offi- 
cers; Mr.  Scales,  Mr.  Barblaud,  etc.,  who  smiled  re- 
cognition, stopped  the  wagon  as  Phillie  handed  up 

156 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

a  plate  of  bread  and  meat,  and  talked  gayly  as  they 
divided  it,  until  the  Captain  rode  up.  "On,  gentle- 
men !  not  a  moment  to  lose ! "  Then  the  cart  started 
off,  the  empty  plate  was  flung  overboard,  and  they 
rode  off  waving  hats  and  crying,  "God  bless  you, 
ladies!"  in  answer  to  our  repeated  offers  of  taking 
care  of  them  if  they  were  hurt.  And  they  have  gone 
to  meet  the  Yankees,  and  I  hope  they  won't,  for  they 
have  worked  enough  to-day,  and  from  my  heart  I 
pray  God  prosper  those  brave  men ! 

August  7th. 

Last  night,  shortly  after  we  got  in  bed,  we  were 
roused  by  loud  cannonading  towards  Baton  Rouge, 
and  running  out  on  the  small  balcony  up  here,  saw 
the  light  of  a  great  fire  in  that  direction.  From  the 
constant  reports,  and  the  explosion  of  what  seemed 
to  be  several  powder  magazines,  we  imagined  it  to 
be  either  the  Garrison  or  a  gunboat.  Whatever  it 
was,  it  was  certainly  a  great  fire.  We  all  ran  out  in 
our  nightgowns,  and  watched  for  an  hour  in  the 
damp  air,  I  without  even  shoes.  We  listened  to  the 
fight  a  long  while,  until  the  sound  ceased,  and  we 

went  back  to  bed. 

Evening. 

I  am  so  disheartened !  I  have  been  listening  with 
the  others  to  a  man  who  was  telling  us  about  Baton 
Rouge,  until  I  am  heartsick.  He  says  the  Yankees 
have  been  largely  reinforced,  and  are  prepared  for 
another  attack  which  will  probably  take  place  to- 
morrow; that  the  fight  was  a  dreadful  one,  we  driv- 

157 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ing  them  in,  and  losing  twelve  hundred,  to  their 
fifteen  hundred.  It  must  have  been  awful !  And  that 
our  troops  have  resolved  to  burn  the  town  down, 
since  they  cannot  hold  it  under  the  fire  of  the  gun- 
boats. 

August  8th,  Friday. 

Again  last  night,  about  nine,  we  heard  cannon  in 
Baton  Rouge,  and  watched  the  flashes,,  which  preceded 
the  reports  by  a  minute,  at  least,  for  a  long  time.  We 
must  have  seen  our  own  firing ;  perhaps  we  wanted 
to  find  out  the  batteries  of  the  enemy.  It  was  not 
the  most  delightful  thing  imaginable  to  watch  what 
might  be  the  downfall  of  our  only  home !  And  then 
to  think  each  ball  might  bring  death  to  some  one  we 
love!   Ah,  no!  it  was  not  pleasant! 

Miriam  and  I  have  many  friends  in  BreCKinridge's 
division,  I  expect,  if  we  could  only  hear  the  names 
of  the  regiments.  The  Fourth  is  certainly  there. 
And  poor  Will!  I  wonder  if  he  has  had  his  supper 
yet?  I  have  been  thinking  of  him  ever  since  Mr. 
Scales  told  me  he  was  there,  and  praying  myself  sick 
for  his  safety  and  that  of  the  rest.  I  shut  my  eyes 
at  every  report  and  say,  "Oh,  please!  poor  Will!  — 
and  the  others,  too!"  And  when  I  don't  hear  the 
cannon,  I  pray,  to  be  in  advance  of  the  next. 

It  is  now  midday,  and  again  we  hear  firing;  but 
have  yet  to  learn  the  true  story  of  the  first  day's 
fight.  Preserve  me  from  the  country  in  such  stirring 
days!  We  might  as  well  be  in  Europe  as  to  have 
the  Mississippi  between  us  and  town. 

158 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

By  unanimous  consent,  the  little  lane  in  front  of 
the  house  has  been  christened  "Guerrilla  Lane,"  and 
the  long  one  leading  to  the  river,  "Arkansas."  What 
an  episode  that  was,  in  our  lives !  The  officers  go  by 
the  name  of  Miriam's,  Ginnie's,  Sarah's,  as  though 
they  belonged  to  each! 

Those  girls  did  me  the  meanest  thing  imaginable. 
Mr.  Talbot  and  I  were  planning  a  grand  combined 
attack  on  Baton  Rouge,  in  which  he  was  to  command 
a  fleet  and  attack  the  town  by  the  river,  while  I 
promised  to  get  up  a  battalion  of  girls  and  attack 
them  in  the  rear.  We  had  settled  it  all,  except  the 
time,  when  just  then  all  the  others  stopped  talking. 
I  went  on:  "And  now,  it  is  only  necessary  for  you 
to  name  the  day  — "  Here  the  girls  commenced  to 
giggle,  and  the  young  men  tried  to  suppress  a  smile; 
I  felt  annoyed,  but  it  did  not  strike  me  until  after 
they  had  left,  that  I  had  said  anything  absurd.  What 
evil  imaginations  they  must  have,  if  they  could  have 
fancied  I  meant  anything  except  the  battle! 

August  9th. 
To  our  great  surprise,  Charlie  came  in  this  morn- 
ing from  the  other  side.  He  was  in  the  battle,  and 
General  Carter,  and  dozens  of  others  that  we  did  not 
think  of.  See  the  mountain  reduced  to  a  mole-hill! 
He  says,  though  the  fight  was  desperate,  we  lost 
only  eighty-five  killed,  and  less  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  wounded!  And  we  had  only  twenty-five  hun- 
dred against  the  Yankees'  four  thousand  five  hun- 

159 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

dred.  There  is  no  truth  in  our  having  held  the  Garri- 
son even  for  a  moment,  though  we  drove  them  down 
to  the  river  in  a  panic.  The  majority  ran  like  fine 
fellows,  but  a  Maine  regiment  fought  like  devils. 
He  says  Will  and  Thompson  Bird  set  fire  to  the 
Yankee  camp  with  the  greatest  alacrity,  as  though 
it  were  rare  fun.  General  Williams  was  killed  as  he 
passed  Piper's,  by  a  shot  from  a  window,  supposed  to 
have  been  fired  by  a  citizen.  Some  one  from  town  told 
him  that  the  Federals  were  breaking  in  the  houses, 
destroying  the  furniture,  and  tearing  the  clothes 
of  the  women  and  children  in  shreds,  like  maniacs. 
O  my  home!  I  wonder  if  they  have  entered  ours? 
What  a  jolly  time  they  would  have  over  all  the 
letters  I  left  in  my  desk !  Butler  has  ordered  them 
to  burn  Baton  Rouge  if  forced  to  evacuate  it.  Looks 
as  though  he  was  not  so  sure  of  holding  it. 

Miss  Turner  told  Miriam  that  her  mother  at- 
tempted to  enter  town  after  the  fight  to  save  some 
things,  when  the  gallant  Colonel  Dudley  put  a  pistol 
to  her  head,  called  her  an  old  she-devil,  and  told  her 

he  would  blow  her  d brains  out  if  she  moved  a 

step ;  that  anyhow,  none  but  we  d women  had 

put  the  men  up  to  fighting,  and  we  were  the  ones 
who  were  to  blame  for  the  fuss.    There  is  no  name 

he  did  not  call  us. 

August  ioth,  Sunday. 

Is  this  really  Sunday?  Never  felt  less  pious,  or 
less  seriously  disposed!  Listen  to  my  story,  and 
though  I  will,  of  course,  fall  far  short  of  the  actual 

1 60 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

terror  that  reigned,  yet  it  will  show  it  in  a  lukewarm 
light,  that  can  at  least  recall  the  excitement  to  me. 

To  begin,  then,  last  evening,  about  six  o'clock,  as 
we  sat  reading,  sewing,  and  making  lint  in  the  par- 
lor, we  heard  a  tremendous  shell  whizzing  past, 
which  those  who  watched,  said  passed  not  five  feet 
above  the  house.  Of  course,  there  was  a  slight  stir 
among  the  unsophisticated;  though  we,  who  had 
passed  through  bombardments,  sieges,  and  alarms 
of  all  kinds,  coolly  remarked,  "a  shell,"  and  kept 
quiet.  (The  latter  class  was  not  very  numerous.) 
It  was  from  one  of  the  three  Yankee  boats  that  lay 
in  the  river  close  by  (the  Essex  and  two  gunboats), 
which  were  sweeping  teams,  provisions,  and  negroes 
from  all  the  plantations  they  stopped  at  from 
Baton  Rouge  up.  The  negroes,  it  is  stated,  are  to 
be  armed  against  us  as  in  town,  where  all  those  who 
manned  the  cannon  on  Tuesday  were,  for  the  most 
part,  killed;  and  served  them  right!  Another  shell 
was  fired  at  a  carriage  containing  Mrs.  Durald  and 
several  children,  under  pretense  of  discovering  if  she 
was  a  guerrilla,  doubtless.  Fortunately,  she  was 
not  hurt,  however. 

By  the  time  the  little  emeute  had  subsided,  deter- 
mined to  have  a  frolic,  Miss  Walters,  Ginnie,  and  I 
got  on  our  horses,  and  rode  off  down  the  Arkansas 
Lane,  to  have  a  gallop  and  a  peep  at  the  gunboats 
from  the  levee.  But  mother's  entreaties  prevented 
us  from  going  that  near,  as  she  cried  that  it  was 
well  known  they  fired  at  every  horse  or  vehicle  they 

161 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

saw  in  the  road,  seeing  a  thousand  guerrillas  in  every 
puff  of  dust,  and  we  were  sure  to  be  killed,  murdered, 
and  all  sorts  of  bloody  deaths  awaited  us ;  so  to  sat- 
isfy her,  we  took  the  road  about  a  mile  from  the 
river,  in  full  view,  however.  We  had  not  gone  very 
far  before  we  met  a  Mr.  Watson,  a  plain  farmer  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  begged  us  to  go  back. 
"You'll  be  fired  on,  ladies,  sure!  You  don't  know 
the  danger!  Take  my  advice  and  go  home  as  quick 
as  possible  before  they  shell  you !  They  shot  buggies 
and  carriages,  and  of  course  they  won't  mind  horses 
with  women!  Please  go  home!"  But  Ginnie,  who 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  go  on,  acted  as  spokeswoman, 
and  determined  to  go  on  in  spite  of  his  advice,  so,  no- 
thing loath  to  follow  her  example,  we  thanked  him, 
and  rode  on.  Another  met  us;  looked  doubtful,  said 
it  was  not  so  dangerous  if  the  Yankees  did  not  see  the 
dust;  but  if  they  did,  we  would  be  pretty  apt  to  see 
a  shell  soon  after.  Here  was  frolic!  So  we  rode  on 
some  mile  or  two  beyond,  but  failing  to  see  anything 
startling,  turned  back  again. 

About  two  miles  from  here,  we  met  Mr.  Watson 
coming  at  full  speed.  The  ladies,  he  said,  had  sent 
him  after  us  in  all  haste ;  there  was  a  report  that  the 
whole  coast  was  to  be  shelled;  a  lady  had  passed, 
flying  with  her  children;  the  carriage  was  ordered 
out ;  they  were  only  waiting  for  us,  to  run,  too.  We 
did  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  and  were  indignant  at 
their  credulity,  as  well  as  determined  to  persuade 
them  to  remain  where  they  were,  if  possible.   When 

162 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

told  their  plan  was  to  run  to  the  house  formerly  used 
as  a  guerrilla  camp,  we  laughed  heartily.  Suppose 
the  Yankees  fired  a  shell  into  it  to  discover  its  in- 
habitants? The  idea  of  choosing  a  spot  so  well 
known!  And  what  fun  in  running  to  a  miserable 
hole,  when  we  might  sleep  comfortably  here?  I  am 
afraid  rebellion  was  in  the  air.  Indeed,  an  impudent 
little  negro,  who  threw  open  the  gate  for  us,  inter- 
rupted Ginnie  in  the  midst  of  a  tirade  with  a  sly 
"Here's  the  beginning  of  a  little  fuss!" 

We  found  them  all  crazy  with  fear.  I  did  not  say 
much;  I  was  too  provoked  to  trust  myself  to  argue 
with  so  many  frightened  women.  I  only  said  I  saw 
no  necessity.  Ginnie  resisted ;  but  finally  succumbed. 
Mr.  Watson,  whom  we  had  enlisted  on  our  side  also, 
said  it  was  by  no  means  necessary,  but  if  we  were 
determined,  we  might  go  to  his  house,  about  four 
miles  away,  and  stay  there.  It  was  very  small,  but  we 
were  welcome.  We  had  in  the  mean  time  thrown  off 
our  riding-skirts,  and  stood  just  in  our  plain  dresses, 
though  the  others  were  freshly  dressed  for  an  exodus. 
Before  the  man  left,  the  carriage  came,  though  by 
that  time  we  had  drawn  half  the  party  on  our  side ;  we 
said  we  would  take  supper,  and  decide  after,  so  he 
went  off. 

In  a  few  moments  a  rocket  went  up  from  one  of  the 
boats,  which  attracted  our  attention.  Five  minutes 
after,  we  saw  a  flash  directly  before  us.  "See  it? 
Lightning,  I  expect,"  said  Phillie.  ^The  others  all 
agreed;  but  I  kept  quiet,  knowing  that  some,  at 

163 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

least,  knew  what  it  was  as  well  as  I,  and  deter- 
mined not  to  give  the  alarm  —  for  I  was  beginning 
to  feel  foolish.  Before  half  a  minute  more  came  a 
tearing,  hissing  sound,  a  sky-rocket  whose  music 
I  had  heard  before.  Instantly  I  remembered  my  run- 
ning-bag, and  flew  upstairs  to  get  it,  escaping  just 
in  time  from  the  scene  which  followed  on  the  gallery 
which  was  afterwards  most  humorously  described 
to  me.  But  I  was  out  of  hearing  of  the  screams  of 
each  (and  yet  I  must  have  heard  them);  neither 
saw  Miss  Walters  tumble  against  the  wall,  nor 
mother  turn  over  her  chair,  nor  the  general  mtUe 
that  followed,  in  which  Mrs.  Walters,  trying  to  scale 
the  carriage,  was  pulled  out  by  Uncle  Will,  who 
shouted  to  his  plunging  horses  first,  then  to  the  other 
unreasoning  creatures,  "Woa,  there!  'T  ain't  safe! 
Take  to  the  fields!  Take  to  the  woods!  Run  to  the 
sugar-house!  Take  to  your  heels!"  in  a  frenzy  of 
excitement. 

I  escaped  all  that,  and  was  putting  on  my  hoops 
and  hastily  catching  up  any  article  that  presented 
itself  to  me  in  my  speed,  when  the  shell  burst  over 
the  roof,  and  went  rolling  down  on  the  gallery,  ac- 
cording to  the  account  of  those  then  below.  Two 
went  far  over  the  house,  out  of  sight.  All  three  were 
seen  by  Mr.  Watson,  who  came  galloping  up  in  a 
few  moments,  crying,  "Ladies,  for  God's  sake,  leave 
the  house!"  Then  I  heard  mother  calling,  "Sarah! 
You  will  be  killed!  Leave  your  clothes  and  run!" — 
and  a  hundred  ejaculations  that  came  too  fast  for 

164 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

me  to  answer  except  by  an  occasional  "Coming,  if 
you  will  send  me  a  candle ! ' '  Candle  was  the  same  as 
though  I  had  demanded  a  hand-grenade,  in  mother's 
opinion,  for  she  was  sure  it  would  be  the  signal  for  a 
bombardment  of  my  exposed  room ;  so  I  tossed  down 
my  bundles,  swept  combs  and  hairpins  into  my  bosom 
(all  points  up),  and  ravished  a  candle  from  some  one. 
How  quickly  I  got  on,  then !  I  saved  the  most  use- 
less of  articles  with  the  greatest  zeal,  and  probably 
left  the  most  serviceable  ones.  One  single  dress  did 
my  running-bag  contain  —  a  white  linen  cambric 
with  a  tiny  pink  flower  —  the  one  I  wore  when  I  told 
Hal  good-bye  for  the  last  time.   The  others  I  left. 

When  I  got  down  with  my  knapsack,  mother, 
Phillie,  and  Mrs.  Walters  were  — 

At  Randallson's  Landing,  August  nth. 
I  don't  mean  those  ladies  were,  but  that  I  am  at 
present.  I  '11  account  for  it  after  I  have  disposed  of 
the  stampede.  Imagine  no  interruption,  and  con- 
tinue —  in  the  carriage  urging  Uncle  Will  to  hurry 
on,  and  I  had  hardly  time  to  thrust  my  sack  under 
their  feet  before  they  were  off.  Lilly  and  Miss  Wal- 
ters were  already  in  the  buggy,  leaving  Ginnie  and 
me  to  follow  on  horseback.  I  ran  up  after  my  riding- 
skirt,  which  I  was  surprised  to  find  behind  a  trunk, 
and  rolled  up  in  it  was  my  running-bag,  with  all  my 
treasures!  I  was  very  much  provoked  at  my  care- 
lessness; indeed,  I  cannot  imagine  how  it  got  there, 
for  it  was  the  first  thing  I  thought  of.   When  I  got 

165 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

back,  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen  except  Ginnie  and 
two  negroes  who  held  our  horses,  and  who  disap- 
peared the  instant  we  were  mounted;  with  the  ex- 
ception of  two  women  who  were  running  to  the  woods, 
we  were  the  only  ones  on  the  lot,  until  Mr.  Watson 
galloped  up  to  urge  us  on.  Again  I  had  to  notice  this 
peculiarity  about  women  —  that  the  married  ones 
are  invariably  the  first  to  fly,  in  time  of  danger,  and 
always  leave  the  young  ones  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves. Here  were  our  three  matrons,  prophesying 
that  the  house  would  be  burnt,  the  Yankees  upon 
us,  and  all  murdered  in  ten  minutes,  flying  down 
the  Guerrilla  Lane,  and  leaving  us  to  encounter  the 
horrors  they  foretold,  alone. 

It  was  a  splendid  gallop  in  the  bright  moonlight, 
over  the  fields,  only  it  was  made  uncomfortable  by  the 
jerking  of  my  running-bag,  until  I  happily  thought 
of  turning  it  before.  A  hard  ride  of  four  miles  in 
about  twenty  minutes  brought  us  to  the  house  of  the 
man  who  so  kindly  offered  his  hospitality.  It  was  a 
little  hut,  about  as  large  as  our  parlor,  and  already 
crowded  to  overflowing,  as  he  was  entertaining 
three  families  from  Baton  Rouge.  Can't  imagine 
where  he  put  them,  either.  But  it  seems  to  me  the 
poorer  the  man,  and  the  smaller  the  house,  the  greater 
the  hospitality  you  meet  with.  There  were  so  many 
of  us  that  there  was  not  room  on  the  balcony  to  turn. 
The  man  wanted  to  prepare  supper,  but  we  declined, 
as  Phillie  had  sent  back  for  ours  which  we  had  missed. 

I  saw  another  instance  of  the  pleasure  the  vulgar 
1 66 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

take  in  the  horrible.  A  Mr.  Hill,  speaking  of  Dr. 
Nolan,  told  Phillie  "he  had  no  doubt  he  had  been 
sent  to  New  Orleans  on  the  Whiteman,  that  carried 
General  Williams's  body;  and  that  every  soul  had 
gone  down  on  her."  Fortunately,  just  then  the 
overseer  brought  a  letter  from  him  saying  he  had 
gone  on  another  boat,  or  the  man's  relish  of  the  dis- 
tressing might  have  been  gratified. 

It  was  so  crowded  there  that  we  soon  suggested 
going  a  short  distance  beyond,  to  Mr.  Lobdell's, 
and  staying  there  for  the  night,  as  all  strenuously 
objected  to  our  returning  home,  as  there  was  danger 
from  prowling  Yankees.  So  we  mounted  again,  and 
after  a  short  ride  we  reached  the  house,  where  all 
were  evidently  asleep.  But  necessity  knows  no  rules ; 
and  the  driver  soon  aroused  an  old  gentleman  who 
came  out  and  invited  us  in.  A  middle-aged  lady  met 
us,  and  made  us  perfectly  at  home  by  leaving  us  to 
take  care  of  ourselves;  most  people  would  have 
thought  it  indifference ;  but  I  knew  it  was  manque  de 
savoir  faire,  merely,  and  preferred  doing  as  I  pleased. 
If  she  had  been  officious,  I  would  have  been  em- 
barrassed. So  we  walked  in  the  moonlight,  Ginnie 
and  I,  while  the  rest  sat  in  the  shade,  and  all  discussed 
the  fun  of  the  evening,  those  who  had  been  most 
alarmed  laughing  loudest.  The  old  gentleman  in- 
sisted that  we  girls  had  been  the  cause  of  it  all ;  that 
our  white  bodies  (I  wore  a  Russian  shirt)  and  black 
skirts  could  easily  have  caused  us  to  be  mistaken  for 
men.    That,  at  all  events,  three  or  four  people  on 

167 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

horseback  would  be  a  sufficient  pretext  for  firing 
a  shell  or  two.  "In  short,  young  ladies,"  he  said, 
"there  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  you  were  mis- 
taken for  guerrillas,  and  that  they  only  wanted  to 
give  you  time  to  reach  the  woods  where  they  heard 
they  have  a  camp,  before  shooting  at  you.  In  short, 
take  my  advice  and  never  mount  a  horse  again  when 
there  is  a  Yankee  in  sight."  We  were  highly  grati- 
fied at  being  mistaken  for  them,  and  pretended  to 
believe  it  was  true.  I  hardly  think  he  was  right, 
though;  it  is  too  preposterous. 

Pourtant,  Sunday  morning  the  Yankees  told  a  ne- 
gro they  did  not  mean  to  touch  the  house,  but  were 
shooting  at  some  guerrillas  at  a  camp  just  beyond. 
We  know  the  last  guerrilla  left  the  parish  five  days  ago. 

Our  host  insisted  on  giving  us  supper,  though 
Phillie  represented  that  ours  was  on  the  road ;  and  by 
eleven  o'clock,  tired  alike  of  moonlight  and  fasting, 
we  gladly  accepted,  and  rapidly  made  the  preserves 
and  batter-cakes  fly.  Ours  was  a  garret  room,  well 
finished,  abounding  in  odd  closets  and  corners,  with 
curious  dormer  windows  that  were  reached  by  long 
little  corridors.  I  should  have  slept  well;  but  I  lay 
awake  all  night.  Mother  and  I  occupied  a  narrow 
single  bed,  with  a  bar  of  the  thickest,  heaviest  ma- 
terial imaginable.  Suffocation  awaited  me  inside, 
gnats  and  mosquitoes  outside.  In  order  to  be 
strictly  impartial,  I  lay  awake  to  divide  my  time 
equally  between  the  two  attractions,  and  think  I 
succeeded  pretty  well.   So  I  spent  the  night  on  the 

168 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

extreme  edge  of  the  bed,  never  turning  over,  but 
fanning  mother  constantly.  I  was  not  sorry  when 
daybreak  appeared,  but  dressed  and  ascended  the 
observatory  to  get  a  breath  of  air. 

Below  me,  I  beheld  four  wagons  loaded  with  the 
young  Mrs.  Lobdell's  baggage.  The  Yankees  had 
visited  them  in  the  evening,  swept  off  everything 
they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  and  with  a  sick  child 
she  was  obliged  to  leave  her  house  in  the  night  and 
fly  to  her  father-in-law.  I  wondered  at  their  allowing 
her  four  wagons  of  trunks  and  bundles;  it  was  very 
kind.  If  I  were  a  Federal,  I  think  it  would  kill  me 
to  hear  the  whisper  of  "Hide  the  silver"  wherever 
I  came.  Their  having  frequently  relieved  families 
of  such  trifles,  along  with  negroes,  teams,  etc.,  has 
put  others  on  their  guard  now.  As  I  sat  in  the  parlor 
in  the  early  morning,  Mrs.  Walters  en  blouse  volante 
and  all  echeveUe,  came  in  to  tell  me  of  Mr.  Lobdell's 
misfortunes.  "They  took  his  negroes  [right  hand 
up];  his  teams  [left  hand  up];  his  preserves  [both 
hands  clutching  her  hair] ;  they  swept  off  everything, 
except  four  old  women  who  could  not  walk!  they 
told  him  if  he  didn't  come  report  himself,  they'd 
come  fetch  him  in  three  days !  They  beggared  him ! " 
[Both  eyes  rolling  like  a  ship  in  a  storm.]  I  could  not 
help  laughing.  Mr.  Bird  sat  on  the  gallery,  and  had 
been  served  in  the  same  way,  with  the  addition  of 
a  pair  of  handcuffs  for  a  little  while.  It  was  not  a 
laughing  matter;  but  the  old  lady  made  it  comical 
by  her  gestures. 

169 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

When  we  suggested  returning,  there  was  another 
difficulty.  All  said  it  was  madness ;  that  the  Yankees 
would  sack  the  house  and  burn  it  over  our  heads; 
we  would  be  insulted,  etc.  I  said  no  one  yet  had  ever 
said  an  impudent  thing  to  me,  and  Yankees  certainly 
would  not  attempt  it ;  but  the  old  gentleman  told  me 
I  did  not  know  what  I  was  talking  about ;  so  I  hushed, 
but  determined  to  return.  Ginnie  and  I  sat  an  hour 
on  horseback  waiting  for  the  others  to  settle  what 
they  would  do;  and  after  having  half-roasted  our- 
selves in  the  sun,  they  finally  agreed  to  go,  too,  and 
we  set  off  in  a  gallop  which  we  never  broke  until  we 
reached  the  house,  which  to  our  great  delight  we 
found  standing,  and  not  infested  with  Yankees. 

Linwood,  August  1 2th. 

Another  resting-place!  Out  of  reach  of  shells  for 
the  first  time  since  last  April !  For  how  long,  I  won- 
der? For  wherever  we  go,  we  bring  shells  and  Yan- 
kees. Would  not  be  surprised  at  a  visit  from  them 
out  here,  now! 

Let  me  take  up  the  thread  of  that  never-ending 
story,  and  account  for  my  present  position.  It  all 
seems  tame  now;  but  it  was  very  exciting  at  the 
time. 

As  soon  as  I  threw  down  bonnet  and  gloves,  I 
commenced  writing;  but  before  I  had  halfway  fin- 
ished, mother,  who  had  been  holding  a  consultation 
downstairs,  ran  up  to  say  the  overseer  had  advised 
us  all  to  leave,  as  the  place  was  not  safe;  and  that 

170 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  must  pack  up  instantly,  as,  unless  we  got  off  before 
the  Essex  came  up,  it  would  be  impossible  to  leave 
at  all.  All  was  commotion;  every  one  flew  to  pack  up. 
Phillie  determined  to  go  to  her  friends  at  Grosse 
TSte,  and  insisted  on  carrying  us  off  with  her.  But 
I  determined  to  reach  Miriam  and  Lilly  if  possible, 
rather  than  put  the  Federal  army  between  us.  All 
en  deshabille,  I  commenced  to  pack  our  trunk,  but 
had  scarcely  put  an  article  in  when  they  cried  the 
Essex  was  rounding  the  point,  and  our  last  oppor- 
tunity passing  away.  Then  I  flew;  and  by  the  time 
the  boat  got  opposite  to  us,  the  trunk  was  locked, 
and  I  sat  on  it,  completely  dressed,  waiting  for  the 
wagon.  We  had  then  to  wait  for  the  boat  to  get  out 
of  sight,  to  avoid  a  broadside;  so  it  was  half- past 
ten  before  we  set  off,  fortified  by  several  glasses  of 
buttermilk  apiece. 

All  went  in  the  carriage  except  Ginnie,  Lilly  (No- 
lan), and  me,  and  we  perched  on  the  baggage  in 
the  wagon.  Such  stifling  heat!  The  wagon  jarred 
dreadfully,  and  seated  at  the  extreme  end,  on  a 
wooden  trunk  traversed  by  narrow  slats,  Ginnie  and 
I  were  jolted  until  we  lost  our  breath,  all  down 
Arkansas  Lane,  when  we  changed  for  the  front 
part.    I  shall  never  forget  the  heat  of  that  day. 

Four  miles  beyond,  the  carriage  stopped  at  some 
house,  and,  still  determined  to  get  over  the  river, 
I  stepped  into  the  little  cart  that  held  our  trunks, 
drove  up  to  the  side  of  it,  and  insisted  on  mother's 
getting  in,  rather  than  going  the  other  way  with 

171 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Phillie.  I  had  a  slight  discussion,  and  overcame 
mother's  reluctance  to  Phillie's  objections  with  some 
difficulty;  but  finally  prevailed  on  the  former  to  get 
into  the  cart,  and  jolted  off  amid  a  shower  of  re- 
proaches, regrets,  and  good-byes.  I  knew  I  was  right, 
though ;  and  the  idea  reconciled  me  to  the  heat,  dust, 
jarring,  and  gunboat  that  was  coming  up  behind  us. 

Six  miles  more  brought  us  to  Mr.  Cain's,  where 
we  arrived  at  two  o'clock,  tired,  dirty,  and  almost 
unrecognizable.  We  were  received  with  the  greatest 
cordiality  in  spite  of  that.  Mother  knew  both  him 
and  his  wife,  but  though  I  had  never  seen  either,  the 
latter  kissed  me  as  affectionately  as  though  we  had 
known  each  other.  It  was  impossible  to  cross  when 
the  gunboat  was  in  sight,  so  they  made  us  stay  with 
them  until  the  next  morning.  A  bath  and  clean 
clothes  soon  made  me  quite  presentable,  and  I  really 
enjoyed  the  kindness  we  met  with,  in  spite  of  a 
"tearing"  headache,  and  a  distended  feeling  about 
the  eyes  as  though  I  never  meant  to  close  them  again 
—  the  consequence  of  my  vigil,  I  presume.  O  those 
dear,  kind  people!  I  shall  not  soon  forget  them.  Mr. 
Cain  told  mother  he  believed  he  would  keep  me;  at 
all  events,  he  would  make  an  exchange,  and  give  her 
his  only  son  in  my  place.  I  told  him  I  was  willing, 
as  mother  thought  much  more  of  her  sons  than  of 
her  daughters. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  we  met  General  Allen's  partner 
a  mile  or  two  from  Dr.  Nolan's,  who  told  us  it  was  a 
wise  move ;  that  he  had  intended  recommending  it. 

172 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

All  he  owned  had  been  carried  off,  his  plantation 
stripped.  He  said  he  had  no  doubt  that  all  the  coast 
would  be  ravaged,  and  they  had  promised  to  burn 
his  and  many  other  houses ;  and  Dr.  Nolan's — though 
it  might  possibly  be  spared  in  consideration  of  his 
being  a  prisoner,  and  his  daughter  being  unpro- 
tected —  would  most  probably  suffer  with  the  rest, 
but  even  if  spared,  it  was  no  place  for  women.  He 
offered  to  take  charge  of  us  all,  and  send  the  furni- 
ture into  the  interior  before  the  Yankees  should  land, 
which  Phillie  gladly  accepted. 

What  a  splendid  rest  I  had  at  Mrs.  Cain's!  I  was 
not  conscious  of  being  alive  until  I  awaked  abruptly 
in  the  early  morning,  with  a  confused  sense  of  having 
dreamed  something  very  pleasant. 

Mr.  Cain  accompanied  us  to  the  ferry  some  miles 
above,  riding  by  the  buggy ;  and  leaving  us  under 
care  of  Mr.  Randallson,  after  seeing  us  in  the  large 
flat,  took  his  leave.  After  an  hour  spent  at  the 
hotel  after  landing  on  this  side,  we  procured  a  con- 
veyance and  came  on  to  Mr.  Elder's,  where  we  as- 
tonished Lilly  by  our  unexpected  appearance  very 
much.  Miriam  had  gone  over  to  spend  the  day  with 
her,  so  we  were  all  together,  and  talked  over  our  ad- 
ventures with  the  greatest  glee.  After  dinner  Miriam 
and  I  came  over  here  to  see  them  all,  leaving  the 
others  to  follow  later.  I  was  very  glad  to  see  Helen 
Carter  once  more.  If  I  was  not,  I  hope  I  may  live  in 
Yankee-land !  —  and  I  can't  invoke  a  more  dreadful 
punishment  than  that. 

173 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Well!  here  we  are,  and  Heaven  only  knows  our 
next  move.  But  we  must  settle  on  some  spot,  which 
seems  impossible  in  the  present  state  of  affairs,  when 
no  lodgings  are  to  be  found.  I  feel  like  a  homeless 
beggar.  Will  Pinckney  told  them  here  that  he 
doubted  if  our  house  were  still  standing,  as  the  fight 
occurred  just  back  of  it,  and  every  volley  directed 
towards  it.  He  says  he  thought  of  it  every  time  the 
cannon  was  fired,  knowing  where  the  shot  would  go. 

August  13th. 

I  am  in  despair.  Miss  Jones,  who  has  just  made 
her  escape  from  town,  brings  a  most  dreadful  account. 
She,  with  seventy-five  others,  took  refuge  at  Dr. 
Enders's,  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  below  town, 
at  Hall's.  It  was  there  we  sent  the  two  trunks  con- 
taining father's  papers  and  our  clothing  and  silver. 
Hearing  that  guerrillas  had  been  there,  the  Yankees 
went  down,  shelled  the  house  in  the  night,  turning 
all  those  women  and  children  out,  who  barely  es- 
caped with  their  clothing,  and  let  the  soldiers  loose 
on  it.  They  destroyed  everything  they  could  lay 
their  hands  on,  if  it  could  not  be  carried  off;  broke 
open  armoirs,  trunks,  sacked  the  house,  and  left  it 
one  scene  of  devastation  and  ruin.  They  even  stole 
Miss  Jones's  braid!  She  got  here  with  nothing  but 
the  clothes  she  wore. 

This  is  a  dreadful  blow  to  me.  Yesterday,  I 
thought  myself  beggared  when  I  heard  that  our  house 
was  probably  burnt,  remembering  all  the  clothing, 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

books,  furniture,  etc.,  that  it  contained;  but  I  con- 
soled myself  with  the  recollection  of  a  large  trunk 
packed  in  the  most  scientific  style,  containing  quan- 
tities of  nightgowns,  skirts,  chemises,  dresses, 
cloaks,  —  in  short,  our  very  best,  —  which  was  in 
safety.  Winter  had  no  terrors  when  I  thought  of  the 
nice  warm  clothes ;  I  only  wished  I  had  a  few  of  the 
organdie  dresses  I  had  packed  up  before  wearing. 
And  now?  It  is  all  gone,  silver,  father's  law  papers, 
without  which  we  are  beggars,  and  clothing!  Noth- 
ing left ! 

I  could  stand  that.  But  as  each  little  article  of 
Harry's  came  up  before  me  (I  had  put  many  in  the 
trunk),  I  lost  heart.  .  .  .  They  may  clothe  their 
negro  women  with  my  clothes,  since  they  only  steal 
for  them ;  but  to  take  things  so  sacred  to  me !  O  my 
God,  teach  me  to  forgive  them! 

Poor  Miss  Jones !  They  went  into  her  clothes-bag 
and  took  out  articles  which  were  certainly  of  no  serv- 
ice to  them,  for  mere  deviltry.  There  are  so  many 
sufferers  in  this  case  that  it  makes  it  still  worse. 
The  plantation  just  below  was  served  in  the  same 
way;  whole  families  fired  into  before  they  knew  of 
the  intention  of  the  Yankees;  was  it  not  fine  sport? 
I  have  always  been  an  advocate  of  peace  —  if  we 
could  name  the  conditions  ourselves  —  but  I  say, 
War  to  the  death !  I  would  give  my  life  to  be  able  to 
take  arms  against  the  vandals  who  are  laying  waste 
our  fair  land!  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  have  no 
longer  anything  to  lose  that  I  am  desperate.  Before, 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  always  opposed  the  burning  of  Baton  Rouge,  as  a 
useless  piece  of  barbarism  in  turning  out  five  thou- 
sand women  and  children  on  the  charity  of  the  world. 
But  I  noticed  that  those  who  had  no  interest  there 
warmly  advocated  it.  Lilly  Nolan  cried  loudly  for 
it;  thought  it  only  just;  but  the  first  shell  that  whistled 
over  her  father's  house  made  her  crazy  with  rage. 
The  brutes!  the  beasts!  how  cruel!  wicked!  etc.  It 
was  too  near  home  for  her,  then.  There  is  the  great- 
est difference  between  my  property  and  yours.  I 
notice  that  the  further  I  get  from  town,  the  more 
ardent  are  the  people  to  have  it  burned.  It  recalls 
very  forcibly  Thackeray's  cut  in  "The  Virginians," 
when  speaking  of  the  determination  of  the  Rebels  to 
burn  the  cities:  he  says  he  observed  that  all  those 
who  were  most  eager  to  burn  New  York  were  in- 
habitants of  Boston;  while  those  who  were  most 
zealous  to  burn  Boston  had  all  their  property  in 
New  York.  It  is  true  all  the  world  over.  And  I  am 
afraid  I  am  becoming  indifferent  about  the  fate  of 
our  town.  Anything,  so  it  is  speedily  settled!  Tell 
me  it  would  be  of  service  to  the  Confederacy,  and 
I  would  set  fire  to  my  home  —  if  still  standing  — 

willingly!   But  would  it? 

August  17th. 

Another  Sunday.  Strange  that  the  time,  which 
should  seem  so  endless,  flies  so  rapidly!  Miriam 
complains  that  Sunday  comes  every  day ;  but  though 
that  seems  a  little  too  much,  I  insist  that  it  comes 
twice  a  week.    Let  time  fly,  though;  for  each  day 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

brings  us  so  much  nearer  our  destiny,  which  I  long 
to  know. 

Thursday,  we  heard  from  a  lady  just  from  town 
that  our  house  was  standing  the  day  before,  which 
somewhat  consoled  us  for  the  loss  of  our  silver  and 
clothing;  but  yesterday  came  the  tidings  of  new 
afflictions.  I  declare  we  have  acted  out  the  first 
chapter  of  Job,  all  except  that  verse  about  the  death 
of  his  sons  and  daughters.  God  shield  us  from  that! 
I  do  not  mind  the  rest.  "While  he  was  yet  speaking, 
another  came  in  and  said,  'Thy  brethren  and  kins- 
men gathered  together  to  wrest  thine  abode  from  the 
hand  of  the  Philistines  which  pressed  sore  upon  thee ; 
when  lo!  the  Philistines  sallied  forth  with  fire  and 
sword,  and  laid  thine  habitation  waste  and  desolate, 
and  I  only  am  escaped  to  tell  thee.'"  Yes!  the 
Yankees,  fearing  the  Confederates  might  slip  in  un- 
seen, resolved  to  have  full  view  of  their  movements, 
so  put  the  torch  to  all  eastward,  from  Colonel 
Matta's  to  the  Advocate.  That  would  lay  open  a 
fine  tract  of  country,  alone;  but  unfortunately,  it  is 
said  that  once  started,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  control 
the  flames,  which  spread  considerably  beyond  their 
appointed  limits.  Some  say  it  went  as  far  as  Flor- 
ida Street;  if  so,  we  are  lost,  as  that  is  a  half-square 
below  us.  For  several  days  the  fire  has  been  burn- 
ing, but  very  little  can  be  learned  of  the  particulars. 
I  am  sorry  for  Colonel  Matta.  Such  a  fine  brown 
stone  front,  the  finest  in  town.  Poor  Minna!  poverty 
will  hardly  agree  with  her.  As  for  our  home,  I  hope 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

against  hope.  I  will  not  believe  it  is  burnt,  until  some- 
body declares  having  been  present  on  that  occasion. 
Yet  so  many  frame  houses  on  that  square  must  have 
readily  caught  fire  from  the  sparks. 

Wicked  as  it  may  seem,  I  would  rather  have  all  I 
own  burned,  than  in  the  possession  of  the  negroes. 
Fancy  my  magenta  organdie  on  a  dark  beauty !  Bah ! 
I  think  the  sight  would  enrage  me!  Miss  Jones's  trials 
are  enough  to  drive  her  crazy.  She  had  the  pleasure 
of  having  four  officers  in  her  house,  men  who  sported 
epaulets  and  red  sashes,  accompanied  by  a  negro 
woman,  at  whose  disposal  all  articles  were  placed. 
The  worthy  companion  of  these  "gentlemen" 
walked  around  selecting  things  with  the  most  natural 
airs  and  graces.  "This"  she  would  say,  "we  must 
have.  And  some  of  these  books,  you  know ;  and  all 
the  preserves,  and  these  chairs  and  tables,  and  all 
the  clothes,  of  course;  and  yes!  the  rest  of  these 
things."  So  she  would  go  on,  the  "gentlemen"  as- 
suring her  she  had  only  to  choose  what  she  wanted, 
and  that  they  would  have  them  removed  immedi- 
ately. Madame  thought  they  really  must  have  the 
wine,  and  those  handsome  cut-glass  goblets.  I  hardly 
think  I  could  have  endured  such  a  scene;  to  see  all 
I  owned  given  to  negroes,  without  even  an  accusa- 
tion being  brought  against  me  of  disloyalty.1  One 
officer  departed  with  a  fine  velvet  cloak  on  his  arm ; 
another  took  such  a  bundle  of  Miss  Jones's  clothes, 

1  The  Act  of  July  16th,  1862,  authorized  the  confiscation  of  property 
only  in  the  cases  of  rebels  whose  disloyalty  was  established.  —  W.  D. 

178 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

that  he  had  to  have  it  lifted  by  some  one  else  on  his 
horse,  and  rode  off  holding  it  with  difficulty.  This 
I  heard  from  herself,  yesterday,  as  I  spent  the  day 
with  Lilly  and  mother  at  Mr.  Elder's,  where  she  is 
now  staying.  Can  anything  more  disgraceful  be 
imagined?  They  all  console  me  by  saying  there  is 
no  one  in  Baton  Rouge  who  could  possibly  wear  my 
dresses  without  adding  a  considerable  piece  to  the 
belt.  But  that  is  nonsense.  Another  pull  at  the 
corset  strings  would  bring  them  easily  to  the  size 
I  have  been  reduced  by  nature  and  bones.   Besides, 

0  horror!  Suppose,  instead,  they  should  let  in  a  piece 
of  another  color?  That  would  annihilate  me !  Pshaw ! 

1  do  not  care  for  the  dresses,  if  they  had  only  left  me 

those  little  articles  of  father's  and  Harry's.  But  that 

is  hard  to  forgive. 

August  19th. 

Yesterday,  two  Colonels,  Shields  and  Breaux, 
both  of  whom  distinguished  themselves  in  the  battle 
of  Baton  Rouge,  dined  here.  Their  personal  appear- 
ance was  by  no  means  calculated  to  fill  me  with  awe, 
or  even  to  give  one  an  idea  of  their  rank ;  for  their 
dress  consisted  of  merely  cottonade  pants,  flannel 
shirts,  and  extremely  short  jackets  (which,  however, 
is  rapidly  becoming  the  uniform  of  the  Confederate 
States). 

Just  three  lines  back,  three  soldiers  came  in  to  ask 
for  molasses.  I  was  alone  downstairs,  and  the  nerv- 
ous trepidation  with   which  I  received   the  dirty, 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

coarsely  clad  strangers,  who,  however,  looked  as 
though  they  might  be  gentlemen,  has  raised  a  laugh 
against  me  from  the  others  who  looked  down  from 
a  place  of  safety.  I  don't  know  what  I  did  that  was 
out  of  the  way.  I  felt  odd  receiving  them  as  though 
it  was  my  home,  and  having  to  answer  their  ques- 
tions about  buying,  by  means  of  acting  as  telegraph 
between  them  and  Mrs.  Carter.  I  confess  to  that. 
But  I  know  I  talked  reasonably  about  the  other 
subjects.  Playing  hostess  in  a  strange  house!  Of 
course,  it  was  uncomfortable !  and  to  add  to  my  em- 
barrassment, the  handsomest  one  offered  to  pay 
for  the  milk  he  had  just  drunk!  Fancy  my  feelings, 
as  I  hastened  to  assure  him  that  General  Carter 
never  received  money  for  such  things,  and  from  a 
soldier,  besides,  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of!  He 
turned  to  the  other,  saying,  "  In  Mississippi  we  don't 
meet  with  such  people!  Miss,  they  don't  hesitate 
to  charge  four  bits  a  canteen  for  milk.  They  take  all 
they  can.  They  are  not  like  you  Louisianians."  I 
was  surprised  to  hear  him  say  it  of  his  own  State,  but 
told  him  we  thought  here  we  could  not  do  enough  for 
them. 

August  20th. 

Last  evening,  after  hard  labor  at  pulling  molasses 
candy,  needing  some  relaxation  after  our  severe 
exertions,  we  determined  to  have  some  fun,  though 
the  sun  was  just  setting  in  clouds  as  watery  as  New 
Orleans  milk,  and  promised  an  early  twilight.  All 
day  it  had  been  drizzling,  but  that  was  nothing;  so. 

1 80 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Anna  Badger,  Miriam,  and  I  setoff,  through  the  mud, 
to  get  up  the  little  cart  to  ride  in,  followed  by  cries 
from  the  elder  ladies  of  " Girls!  Soap  is  a  dollar  and 
a  half  a  bar !  Starch  a  dollar  a  pound !  Take  up  those 
skirts ! "  We  had  all  started  stiff  and  clean,  and  it  did 
seem  a  pity  to  let  them  drag ;  so  up  they  went  — 
you  can  imagine  how  high  when  I  tell  you  my  answer 
to  Anna's  question  as  to  whether  hers  were  in  danger 
of  touching  the  mud,  was,  "Not  unless  you  sit  down." 
The  only  animal  we  could  discover  that  was  not 
employed  was  a  poor  old  pony,  most  appropriately 
called  "Tom  Thumb,"  and  him  we  seized  instantly, 
together  with  a  man  to  harness  him.  We  accom- 
panied him  from  the  stable  to  the  quarter  where  the 
cart  was,  through  mud  and  water,  urging  him  on 
with  shouts  and  cries,  and  laughing  until  we  could 
laugh  no  longer,  at  the  appearance  of  each.  The  cart 
had  been  hauling  wood,  but  that  was  nothing  to  us. 
In  we  tumbled,  and  with  a  driver  as  diminutive  as 
the  horse,  started  off  for  Mr.  Elder's,  where  we 
picked  up  all  the  children  to  be  found,  and  went  on. 
All  told,  we  were  twelve,  drawn  by  that  poor  horse, 
who  seemed  at  each  step  about  to  undergo  the  ham 
process,  and  leave  us  his  hind  quarters,  while  he 
escaped  with  the  fore  ones  and  harness.  I  dare  say 
we  never  enjoyed  a  carriage  as  much,  though  each 
was  holding  a  muddy  child.  Riding  was  very  fine; 
but  soon  came  the  question,  "How  shall  we  turn?" 
—  which  was  not  so  easily  solved,  for  neither  horse 
nor  boy  understood  it  in  the  least.    Every  effort  to 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

describe  a  circle  brought  us  the  length  of  the  cart 
farther  up  the  road,  and  we  promised  fair  to  reach 
Bayou  Sara  before  morning,  at  that  rate.  At  last, 
after  fruitless  efforts  to  dodge  under  the  harness 
and  escape,  pony  came  to  a  standstill,  and  could 
not  be  induced  to  move.  The  children  took  advan- 
tage of  the  pause  to  tumble  out,  but  we  sat  still. 
Bogged,  and  it  was  very  dark  already!  Would  n't 
we  get  it  when  we  got  home !  Anna  groaned,  "Uncle 
Albert!"  Miriam  laughed,  "the  General!"  I  sighed, 
"Mrs.  Carter!"  We  knew  what  we  deserved;  and 
darker  and  darker  it  grew,  and  pony  still  inflexible! 
At  last  we  beheld  a  buggy  on  a  road  near  by  and  in 
answer  to  Morgan's  shouts  of  "Uncle!  Uncle!  come 
turn  our  cart!"  a  gentleman  jumped  out  and  in  an 
instant  performed  the  Herculean  task.  Pony  found 
motion  so  agreeable  that  it  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  we  prevailed  on  him  to  stop  while  we  fished 
seven  children  out  of  the  mud,  as  they  pursued  his 
flying  hoofs.  Once  more  at  Mr.  Elder's,  we  pitched 
them  out  without  ceremony,  and  drove  home  as 
fast  as  possible,  trying  to  fancy  what  punishment 
we  would  receive  for  being  out  so  late. 

Miriam  suggested,  as  the  most  horrible  one,  being 
sent  to  bed  supperless;  Anna's  terror  was  the  Gen- 
eral's displeasure;  I  suggested  being  deprived  of 
rides  in  future;  when  all  agreed  that  mine  was  the 
most  severe  yet.  So  as  we  drove  around  the  circle, 
those  two  set  up  what  was  meant  for  a  hearty  laugh 
to  show  "they  were  not  afraid,"  which,  however, 

182 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

sounded  rather  shaky  to  me.  I  don't  think  any  of  us 
felt  like  facing  the  elders;  Miriam  suggested  antici- 
pating our  fate  by  retiring  voluntarily  to  bed ;  Anna 
thought  we  had  best  run  up  and  change  our  shoes, 
anyway;  but  at  last,  with  her  dare-devil  laugh, 
Miriam  sauntered  into  the  room,  where  they  all 
were,  followed  by  us,  and  thrusting  her  wet  feet  into 
the  fire  that  was  kindled  to  drive  away  the  damp 
(followed  also  by  us),  commenced  a  laughable  ac- 
count of  our  fun  —  in  which  we,  of  course,  followed, 
too.  If  I  had  fancied  we  were  to  escape  scot  free,  we 
would  most  surely  have  got  a  scolding.  It  is  almost 
an  inducement  to  hope  always  for  the  —  worst !  The 
General  did  not  mention  the  hour!  did  not  prohibit 
future  rides! 

While  we  were  yet  toasting,  a  negro  came  in  with 
what  seemed  a  bank-note,  and  asked  his  master  to 
see  how  much  it  was,  as  one  of  the  women  had  sold 
some  of  her  watermelons  to  the  three  soldiers  of 
the  morning,  who  had  given  that  to  her  for  a  dollar. 
The  General  opened  it.  It  was  a  pass!  So  vanish  all 
faith  in  human  nature!  They  looked  so  honest!  I 
could  never  have  believed  it  of  them !  But  it  looked 
so  much  like  the  "  shinplasters  "  we  are  forced  to  use, 
that  no  wonder  they  made  the  mistake.  To  discover 
who  had  played  so  mean  a  trick  on  the  poor  old 
woman,  the  General  asked  me  if  I  could  decipher  the 
name.  I  threw  myself  on  my  knees  by  the  hearth, 
and  by  the  flickering  light  read  "  S.  Kimes.  By  order 
of  C!H!!Luzenberg!  !  !  Provost  Marshal!  !  !  !  Ono- 

183 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

lona,  Miss.,"  with  a  gasp  of  astonishment  that  raised 
a  burst  of  laughter  against  me.  Thought  he  was 
taken  prisoner  long  ago!  At  all  events,  I  didn't 
know  he  had  turned  banker,  or  that  his  valuable 
autograph  was  worth  a  dollar! 

August  2ISt. 

Miriam  and  mother  are  going  to  Baton  Rouge  in 
a  few  hours,  to  see  if  anything  can  be  saved  from  the 
general  wreck.  From  the  reports  of  the  removal  of 
the  Penitentiary  machinery,  State  Library,  Washing- 
ton Statue,  etc.,  we  presume  that  that  part  of  the 
town  yet  standing  is  to  be  burnt  like  the  rest.  I 
think,  though,  that  mother  has  delayed  too  long. 
However,  I  dreamed  last  night  that  we  had  saved  a 
great  deal,  in  trunks;  and  my  dreams  sometimes 
come  true.  Waking  with  that  impression,  I  was  sur- 
prised, a  few  hours  after,  to  hear  mother's  sudden 
determination.  But  I  also  dreamed  I  was  about  to 
marry  a  Federal  officer!  That  was  in  consequence  of 
having  answered  the  question,  whether  I  would  do 
so,  with  an  emphatic  "Yes!  if  I  loved  him,"  which 
will  probably  ruin  my  reputation  as  a  patriot  in  this 
parish.    Bah!    I  am  no  bigot!  —  or  fool  either.  .  .  . 

August  23d. 
Yesterday  Anna  and  I  spent  the  day  with  Lilly, 
and  the  rain  in  the  evening  obliged  us  to  stay  all 
night.  Dr.  Perkins  stopped  there,  and  repeated  the 
same  old  stories  we  have  been  hearing,  about  the 
powder  placed  under  the  State  House  and  Garrison, 

184 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  blow  them  up,  if  forced  to  evacuate  the  town. 
He  confirms  the  story  about  all  the  convicts  being  set 
free,  and  the  town  being  pillaged  by  the  negroes  and 
the  rest  of  the  Yankees.  He  says  his  own  slaves  told 
him  they  were  allowed  to  enter  the  houses  and  help 
themselves,  and  what  they  did  not  want  the  Yankees 
either  destroyed  on  the  spot,  or  had  it  carried  to  the 
Garrison  and  burned.  They  also  bragged  of  having 
stopped  ladies  on  the  street,  cut  their  necklaces 
from  their  necks,  and  stripped  the  rings  from  their 
fingers,  without  hesitation.  It  may  be  that  they 
were  just  bragging  to  look  great  in  the  eyes  of  their 
masters;  I  hope  so,  for  Heaven  help  them  if  they  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  Confederates,  if  it  is  true. 

I  could  not  record  all  the  stories  of  wanton  de- 
struction that  reached  us.  I  would  rather  not  be- 
lieve that  the  Federal  Government  could  be  so  dis- 
graced by  its  own  soldiers.  Dr.  Day  says  they  left 
nothing  at  all  in  his  house,  and  carried  everything 
off  from  Dr.  Enders's.  He  does  not  believe  we  have 
a  single  article  left  in  ours.  I  hope  they  spared  Mir- 
iam's piano.  But  they  say  the  soldiers  had  so  many 
that  they  offered  them  for  sale  at  five  dollars  apiece ! 
We  heard  that  the  town  had  been  completely  evacu- 
ated, and  all  had  gone  to  New  Orleans  except  three 
gunboats  that  were  preparing  to  shell,  before  leav- 
ing. 

This  morning  Withers's  battery  passed  Mr.  Elder's 
on  their  way  to  Port  Hudson,  and  stopped  to  get 
water.  There  were  several  buckets  served  by  several 

185 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

servants ;  but  I  took  possession  of  one,  to  their  great 
amusement.  What  a  profusion  of  thanks  over  a  can 
of  water!  It  made  me  smile,  and  they  smiled  to  see 
my  work,  so  it  was  all  very  funny.  It  was  astonish- 
ing to  see  the  number  of  Yankee  canteens  in  the  pos- 
session of  our  men.  Almost  all  those  who  fought  at 
Baton  Rouge  are  provided  with  them.  In  their  can- 
vas and  wire  cases,  with  neat  stoppers,  they  are 
easily  distinguished  from  our  rough,  flat,  tin  ones. 
I  declare  I  felt  ever  so  important  in  my  new  situa- 
tion as  waiting-maid! 

There  is  very  little  we  would  not  do  for  our  soldiers, 
though.  There  is  mother,  for  instance,  who  got  on 
her  knees  to  bathe  the  face  and  hands  of  a  fever- 
struck  soldier  of  the  Arkansas,  while  the  girls  held 
the  plates  of  those  who  were  too  weak  to  hold  them 
and  eat  at  the  same  time.  Blessed  is  the  Confederate 
soldier  who  has  even  toothache,  when  there  are 
women  near!  What  sympathies  and  remedies  are 
volunteered!  I  always  laugh,  as  I  did  then,  when  I 
think  of  the  supposed  wounded  man  those  girls  dis- 
covered on  that  memorable  Arkansas  day.  I  must 
first  acknowledge  that  it  was  my  fault;  for  seized 
with  compassion  for  a  man  supported  by  two  others 
who  headed  the  procession,  I  cried,  "Oh,  look!  he 
is  wounded!"  "Oh,  poor  fellow!"  screamed  the 
others,  while  tears  and  exclamations  flowed  abun- 
dantly, until  one  of  the  men,  smiling  humorously, 
cried  out,  "Nothing  the  matter  with  him!"  and  on 
nearer  view,  I  perceived  it  was  laziness,  or  perhaps 

1 86 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

something   else,  and  was   forced  to  laugh  at  the 
streaming  eyes  of  those  tender-hearted  girls. 

August  24th,  Sunday. 

Soon  after  dinner  yesterday  two  soldiers  stopped 
here,  and  requested  permission  to  remain  all  night. 
The  word  "soldier"  was  enough  for  us;  and  without 
even  seeing  them,  Anna  and  I  gladly  surrendered 
our  room,  and  said  we  would  sleep  in  Mrs.  Badger's, 
instead.  However,  I  had  no  curiosity  to  see  the 
heroes,  and  remained  up  here  reading  until  the  bell 
summoned  me  to  supper,  when  I  took  my  seat  with- 
out looking  at  them,  as  no  introduction  was  possible, 
from  their  having  refrained  from  giving  their  names. 

Presently  I  heard  the  words,  "That  retreat  from 
Norfolk  was  badly  conducted."  I  looked  up,  and 
saw  before  me  a  rather  good-looking  man  covered 
with  the  greatest  profusion  of  gold  cloth  and  buttons, 
for  which  I  intuitively  despised  him.  The  impulse 
seized  me,  so  I  spoke.  "Were  you  there?"  " No;  but 
near  by.  I  was  there  with  the  First  Louisiana  for 
'most  a  year."  "Do  you  know  George  Morgan?" 
"Know  George?  Yes,  indeed!  You  are  his  sister." 
This  was  an  assertion;  but  I  bowed  assent,  and  he 
went  on,  "Thought  so,  from  the  resemblance.  I 
remember  seeing  you  ten  years  ago,  when  you  were 
a  very  little  girl.  I  used  to  be  at  your  house  with  the 
boys;  we  were  schoolmates."  I  remarked  that  I  had 
no  recollection  of  him.  "Of  course  not,"  he  said, 
but  did  not  inform  me  of  his  name.   He  talked  very 

187 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

familiarly  of  the  boys,  and  said  he  had  met  them  all 
at  Richmond.  Next  he  astounded  me  by  saying  he 
was  a  citizen  of  Baton  Rouge,  though  he  had  been 
almost  four  years  in  New  York  before  the  war  broke 
out.  He  was  going  to  town  to  look  after  the  "  prop- 
erty," hearing  his  father  had  gone  to  France.  An 
inhabitant  of  that  city,  who  was  so  familiar  with  my 
brothers  and  me,  and  with  whom  I  was  not  ac- 
quainted !  Here  was  a  riddle  to  solve.  Let  us  see  who 
among  our  acquaintances  had  gone  to  France.  I 
could  think  of  none.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  find  out 
his  name  if  I  had  to  ask  it. 

All  through  supper  he  talked,  and  when,  in  coun- 
try style,  the  gentlemen  left  us  at  table,  I  found  the 
curiosity  of  the  others  was  even  more  excited  than 
mine.    I  was  determined  to  know  who  he  was,  then. 

In  the  parlor,  he  made  some  remark  about  never 
having  been  in  ladies'  society  the  whole  time  he 
was  in  Virginia.  I  expressed  my  surprise,  as  George 
often  wrote  of  the  pleasant  young  ladies  he  met  every- 
where. "Oh,  yes!"  said  monsieur,  "but  it  is  impos- 
sible to  do  your  duty  as  an  officer,  and  be  a  lady's 
man;  so  I  devoted  myself  to  my  military  profession 
exclusively."  "Insufferable  puppy!"  I  said  to  my- 
self. Then  he  told  me  of  how  his  father  thought  he 
was  dead,  and  asked  if  I  had  heard  of  his  rallying 
twenty  men  at  Manassas,  and  charging  a  Federal 
regiment,  which  instantly  broke?  I  honestly  told 
him,  "No."  "Iagoo,  the  great  boaster,"  I  decided. 
Abruptly  he  said  there  were  very  few  nice  young 

1 88 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ladies  in  Baton  Rouge.  "Probably  so,  in  his  circle," 
I  thought,  while  I  dryly  remarked,  "  Indeed?"  "Oh, 
yes! "  and  still  more  abruptly  he  said,  "Ain't  you  the 
youngest?  —  Yes!  I  thought  so!  I  remember  you 
when  you  were  a  wee  thing,  so  high,"  placing  his 
hand  at  a  most  insultingly  short  distance  from  the 
floor.  "Really  I  must  ask  your  name,"  I  said.  He 
hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said  in  a  low  tone,  "De 
J ."  "  De What?  "  I  absurdly  asked,  think- 
ing I  was  mistaken.  "A de  J "  he  repeated. 

I  bowed  slightly  to  express  my  satisfaction,  said, 
"Anna,  we  must  retire,"  and  with  a  good-night  to 
my  newly  discovered  gentleman,  went  upstairs. 

He  is  the  one  I  heard  George  speak  of  last  De- 
cember when  he  was  here,  as  having  been  court- 
martialed,  and  shot,  according  to  the  universal  belief 
in  the  army ;  that  was  the  only  time  I  had  ever  heard 
his  name,  though  I  was  quite  familiar  with  the  cart  of 

De  J pere,  as  it  perambulated  the  streets.    My 

first  impressions  are  seldom  erroneous.  From  the 
first,  I  knew  that  man's  respectability  was  derived 
from  his  buttons.  That  is  why  he  took  such  pride  in 
them,  and  contemplated  them  with  such  satisfac- 
tion. They  lent  him  social  backbone  enough  to  con- 
verse so  familiarly  with  me;  without  the  effulgence 
of  that  splendid  gold,  which  he  hoped  would  dazzle 
my  eye  to  his  real  position,  he  would  have  hardly 
dared  to  "remember  me  when  I  was  a  wee  thing,  so 
high."  Is  he  the  only  man  whose  coat  alone  entitles 
him  to  respectability?    He  may  be  colonel,  for  all  I 

189 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary  ' 

know;  but  still,  he  is  A de  J to  me.    He 

talked  brave  enough  to  be  general. 

This  morning  I  met  him  with  a  cordial  "Good- 
morning,    Mr.    de   J ,"    anxious   to   atone  for 

several  "snubs"  I  had  given  him,  long  before  I 
knew  his  name,  last  night ;  you  see  I  could  afford  to  be 
patronizing  now.  But  the  name  probably,  and  the 
fluency  with  which  I  pronounced  it,  proved  too 
much  for  him,  and  after  "Good-morning,  Miss  Mor- 
gan," he  did  not  venture  a  word.  We  knew  each 
other  then ;  his  name  was  no  longer  a  secret. 

August  25th.  About  12  at  night. 

Sleep  is  impossible  after  all  that  I  have  heard,  so, 
after  vainly  endeavoring  to  follow  the  example  of 
the  rest,  and  sleep  like  a  Stoic,  I  have  lighted  my 
candle  and  take  to  this  to  induce  drowsiness. 

Just  after  supper,  when  Anna  and  I  were  sitting 
with  Mrs.  Carter  in  her  room,  I  talking  as  usual  of 
home,  and  saying  I  would  be  perfectly  happy  if 
mother  would  decide  to  remain  in  Baton  Rouge  and 
brave  the  occasional  shellings,  I  heard  a  well-known 
voice  take  up  some  sentence  of  mine  from  a  dark 
part  of  the  room,  and  with  a  cry  of  surprise,  I  was 
hugging  Miriam  until  she  was  breathless.  Such  a 
forlorn  creature!  —  so  dirty,  tired,  and  fatigued,  as 
to  be  hardly  recognizable.  We  thrust  her  into  a 
chair,  and  made  her  speak.  She  had  just  come  with 
Charlie,  who  went  after  them  yesterday;  and  had 
left  mother  and  the  servants  at  a  kind  friend's,  on 

190 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

the  road.  I  never  heard  such  a  story  as  she  told.  I 
was  heartsick;  but  I  laughed  until  Mrs.  Badger  grew 
furious  with  me  and  the  Yankees,  and  abused  me 
for  not  abusing  them. 

She  says  when  she  entered  the  house,  she  burst 
into  tears  at  the  desolation.  It  was  one  scene  of 
ruin.  Libraries  emptied,  china  smashed,  sideboards 
split  open  with  axes,  three  cedar  chests  cut  open, 
plundered,  and  set  up  on  end ;  all  parlor  ornaments 
carried  off  —  even  the  alabaster  Apollo  and  Diana 
that  Hal  valued  so  much.  Her  piano,  dragged  to  the 
centre  of  the  parlor,  had  been  abandoned  as  too  heavy 
to  carry  off;  her  desk  lay  open  with  all  letters  and 
notes  well  thumbed  and  scattered  around,  while 
Will's  last  letter  to  her  was  open  on  the  floor,  with 
the  Yankee  stamp  of  dirty  fingers.  Mother's  por- 
trait half-cut  from  its  frame  stood  on  the  floor. 
Margret,  who  was  present  at  the  sacking,  told  how 
she  had  saved  father's.  It  seems  that  those  who 
wrought  destruction  in  our  house  were  all  officers. 
One  jumped  on  the  sofa  to  cut  the  picture  down 
(Miriam  saw  the  prints  of  his  muddy  feet)  when 
Margret  cried,  "  For  God's  sake,  gentlemen,  let  it  be ! 
I'll  help  you  to  anything  here.  He's  dead,  and  the 
young  ladies  would  rather  see  the  house  burn  than 
lose  it ! "  "  I  '11  blow  your  damned  brains  out,"  was  the 
"gentleman's "  answer  as  he  put  a  pistol  to  her  head, 
which  a  brother  officer  dashed  away,  and  the  picture 
was  abandoned  for  finer  sport.  All  the  others  were 
cut  up  in  shreds. 

191 


'A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Upstairs  was  the  finest  fun.  Mother's  beautiful 
mahogany  armoir,  whose  single  door  was  an  ex- 
tremely fine  mirror,  was  entered  by  crashing  through 
the  glass,  when  it  was  emptied  of  every  article,  and 
the  shelves  half-split,  and  half -thrust  back  crooked. 
Letters,  labeled  by  the  boys  "  Private,"  were  strewn 
over  the  floor;  they  opened  every  armoir  and 
drawer,  collected  every  rag  to  be  found  and  littered 
the  whole  house  with  them,  until  the  wonder  was, 
where  so  many  rags  had  been  found.  Father's 
armoir  was  relieved  of  everything;  Gibbes's  hand- 
some Damascus  sword  with  the  silver  scabbard 
included.  All  his  clothes,  George's,  Hal's,  Jimmy's, 
were  appropriated.  They  entered  my  room,  broke 
that  fine  mirror  for  sport,  pulled  down  the  rods 
from  the  bed,  and  with  them  pulverized  my  toilet 
set,  taking  also  all  Lydia's  china  ornaments  I  had 
packed  in  the  wash-stand.  The  debris  filled  my 
basin,  and  ornamented  my  bed.  My  desk  was  broken 
open.  Over  it  was  spread  all  my  letters,  and  private 
papers,  a  diary  I  kept  when  twelve  years  old,  and 
sundry  tokens  of  dried  roses,  etc.,  which  must  have 
been  very  funny,  they  all  being  labeled  with  the 
donor's  name,  and  the  occasion.  Fool !  how  I  writhe 
when  I  think  of  all  they  saw ;  the  invitations  to  buggy 
rides,  concerts,  "Compliments  of,"  etc.  — !  Lilly's 
sewing-machine  had  disappeared;  but  as  mother's 
was  too  heavy  to  move,  they  merely  smashed  the 
needles. 

In  the  pillaging  of  the  armoirs,  they  seized  a  pink 
192 


SARAH    FOWLER 

Sully's  portrait  of  Mrs.  Morgan 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

flounced  muslin  of  Miriam's,  which  one  officer  placed 
on  the  end  of  a  bayonet,  and  paraded  round  with, 
followed  by  the  others  who  slashed  it  with  their 
swords  crying,  "I  have  stuck  the  damned  Secesh! 
that's  the  time  I  cut  her!"  and  continued  their  sport 
until  the  rags  could  no  longer  be  pierced.  One  seized 
my  bonnet,  with  which  he  decked  himself,  and  ran 
in  the  streets.  Indeed,  all  who  found  such,  rushed 
frantically  around  town,  by  way  of  frolicking,  with 
the  things  on  their  heads.  They  say  no  frenzy  could 
surpass  it.  Another  snatched  one  of  my  calico  dresses, 
and  a  pair  of  vases  that  mother  had  when  she  was 
married,  and  was  about  to  decamp  when  a  Mrs. 
Jones  jerked  them  away,  and  carried  them  to  her 
boarding-house,  and  returned  them  to  mother  the 
other  day.  Blessed  be  Heaven !  I  have  a  calico  dress ! 
Our  clothes  were  used  for  the  vilest  purposes,  and 
spread  in  every  corner  —  at  least  those  few  that  were 
not  stolen. 

Aunt  Barker's  Charles  tried  his  best  to  defend 
the  property.  "Ain't  you  'shamed  to  destroy  all 
dis  here,  that  belongs  to  a  poor  widow  lady  who's 
got  two  daughters  to  support?"  he  asked  of  an  offi- 
cer who  was  foremost  in  the  destruction.  "Poor? 
Damn  them !  I  don't  know  when  I  have  seen  a  house 
furnished  like  this!  Look  at  that  furniture!  They 
poor!"  was  the  retort,  and  thereupon  the  work  went 
bravely  on,  of  making  us  poor,  indeed. 

It  would  have  fared  badly  with  us  had  we  been 
there.    The  servants  say  they  broke  into  the  house 

i93 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

crying,  "Where  are  those  damned  Secesh  women? 
We  know  they  are  hid  in  here,  and  we  '11  make  them 
dance  for  hiding  from  Federal  officers!"  And  they 
could  not  be  convinced  that  we  were  not  there,  until 
they  had  searched  the  very  garret.  Wonder  what 
they  would  have  done?  Charles  caught  a  Captain 
Clark  in  the  streets,  when  the  work  was  almost  over, 
and  begged  him  to  put  an  end  to  it.  The  gentleman 
went  readily,  but  though  the  devastation  was  quite 
evident,  no  one  was  to  be  seen,  and  he  was  about 
to  leave,  when,  insisting  that  there  was  some  one 
there,  Charles  drew  him  into  my  room,  dived  under 
the  bed,  and  drew  from  thence  a  Yankee  captain, 
by  one  leg,  followed  by  a  lieutenant,  each  with  a 
bundle  of  the  boys'  clothes,  which  they  instantly 
dropped,  protesting  they  were  only  looking  around 
the  house.  The  gentleman  captain  carried  them  off 
to  their  superior. 

Ours  was  the  most  shockingly  treated  house  in  the 
whole  town.  We  have  the  misfortune  to  be  equally 
feared  by  both  sides,  because  we  will  blackguard 
neither.  So  the  Yankees  selected  the  only  house  in 
town  that  sheltered  three  forlorn  women,  to  wreak 
their  vengeance  on.  From  far  and  near,  strangers 
and  friends  flocked  in  to  see  the  ravages  committed. 
Crowds  rushed  in  before,  crowds  came  in  after, 
Miriam  and  mother  arrived,  all  apologizing  for  the 
intrusion,  but  saying  they  had  heard  it  was  a  sight 
never  before  seen.  So  they  let  them  examine  to  their 
hearts'  content;  and  Miriam  says  the  sympathy  of 

194 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

all  was  extraordinary.  A  strange  gentleman  picked 
up  a  piece  of  mother's  mirror,  which  was  as  thick  as 
his  finger,  saying,  "Madame,  I  should  like  to  keep 
this  as  a  memento.  I  am  about  to  travel  through 
Mississippi,  and  having  seen  what  a  splendid  piece 
of  furniture  this  was,  and  the  state  your  house  is 
left  in,  should  like  to  show  this  as  a  specimen  of 
Yankee  vandalism." 

William  Waller  flew  to  our  home  to  try  to  save 
it ;  but  was  too  late.  They  say  he  burst  into  tears  as 
he  looked  around.  While  on  his  kind  errand,  another 
band  of  Yankees  burst  into  his  house  and  left  not 
one  article  of  clothing  to  him,  except  the  suit  he  had 
on.  The  whole  talk  is  about  our  dreadful  treatment 
at  the  Yankees'  hands.  Dr.  Day,  and  Dr.  Enders, 
in  spite  of  the  assertions  of  the  former,  lost  nothing. 

Well!  I  am  beggared!  Strange  to  say,  I  don't  feel 
it.  Perhaps  it  is  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  my  fate 
that  makes  me  so  cheerful  that  Mrs.  Carter  envied 
my  stoicism,  while  Mrs.  Badger  felt  like  beating  me 
because  I  did  not  agree  that  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  a  gentleman  in  the  Yankee  army.  I  know  Major 
Drum  for  one,  and  that  Captain  Clark  must  be  two, 
and  Mr.  Biddle  is  three,  and  General  Williams  — 
God  bless  him,  wherever  he  is !  for  he  certainly  acted 
like  a  Christian.  The  Yankees  boasted  loudly  that 
if  it  had  not  been  for  him,  the  work  would  have  been 
done  long  ago. 

And  now,  I  am  determined  to  see  my  home,  be- 
fore Yankee  shells  complete  the  work  that  Yankee 

195 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

axes  spared.  So  by  sunrise,  I  shall  post  over  to  Mr. 
Elder's,  and  insist  on  Charlie  taking  me  to  town  with 
him.  I  hardly  think  it  is  many  hours  off.  I  feel  so 
settled,  so  calm!  Just  as  though  I  never  meant  to 
sleep  again.  If  I  only  had  a  desk,  —  a  luxury  I  have 
not  enjoyed  since  I  left  home,  —  I  could  write  for 
hours  still,  without  being  sleepy;  but  this  curved 
attitude  is  hard  on  my  stiff  back,  so  good-night,  while 
I  lie  down  to  gain  strength  for  a  sight  they  say  will 
make  me  faint  with  distress.  Nous  verrons!  If  I 
say  I  Won't,  I  know  I  '11  not  cry.  The  Brunots  lost 
nothing  at  all  from  their  house,  thank  Heaven  for 
the  mercy!  Only  they  lost  all  their  money  in  their 
flight.  On  the  door,  on  their  return,  they  found 
written,  "Ladies,  I  have  done  my  best  for  you," 
signed  by  a  Yankee  soldier,  who  they  suppose  to  be 
the  one  who  has  made  it  a  habit  of  continually  pass- 
ing their  house. 

Forgot  to  say  Miriam  recovered  my  guitar  from 
the  Asylum,  our  large  trunk  and  father's  papers 
(untouched)  from  Dr.  Enders's,  and  with  her  piano, 
the  two  portraits,  a  few  mattresses  (all  that  is  left 
of  housekeeping  affairs),  and  father's  law  books, 
carried  them  out  of  town.  For  which  I  say  in  all 
humility,  Blessed  be  God  who  has  spared  us  so  much. 

Thursday,  August  28th. 

I  am  satisfied.  I  have  seen  my  home  again.  Tues- 
day I  was  up  at  sunrise,  and  my  few  preparations 
were  soon  completed,  and  before  any  one  was  awake, 

196 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  walked  over  to  Mr.  Elder's,  through  mud  and  dew, 
to  meet  Charlie.  Fortunate  was  it  for  me  that  I 
started  so  early;  for  I  found  him  hastily  eating  his 
breakfast,  and  ready  to  leave.  He  was  very  much  op- 
posed to  my  going;  and  for  some  time  I  was  afraid 
he  would  force  me  to  remain;  but  at  last  he  con- 
sented, —  perhaps  because  I  did  not  insist,  —  and 
with  wet  feet  and  without  a  particle  of  breakfast, 
I  at  length  found  myself  in  the  buggy  on  the  road 
home.  The  ride  afforded  me  a  series  of  surprises. 
Half  the  time  I  found  myself  halfway  out  of  the  little 
low-necked  buggy  when  I  thought  I  was  safely  in; 
and  the  other  half,  I  was  surprised  to  find  myself 
really  in  when  I  thought  I  was  wholly  out.  And  so 
on,  for  mile  after  mile,  over  muddy  roads,  until  we 
came  to  a  most  terrific  cross-road,  where  we  were 
obliged  to  pass,  and  which  is  best  undescribed.  Four 
miles  from  town  we  stopped  at  Mrs.  Brown's  to  see 
mother,  and  after  a  few  moments'  talk,  went  on  our 
road. 

I  saw  the  first  Yankee  camp  that  Will  Pinckney 
and  Colonel  Bird  had  set  fire  to  the  day  of  the  battle. 
Such  a  shocking  sight  of  charred  wood,  burnt  clothes, 
tents,  and  all  imaginable  articles  strewn  around,  I 
had  never  before  seen.  I  should  have  been  very 
much  excited,  entering  the  town  by  the  route  our 
soldiers  took;  but  I  was  not.  It  all  seemed  tame  and 
familiar.  I  could  hardly  fancy  I  stood  on  the  very 
spot  where  the  severest  struggle  had  taken  place. 
The  next  turn  of  the  road  brought  us  to  two  graves, 

197 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

one  on  each  side  of  the  road,  the  resting-place  of  two 
who  fell  that  day.  They  were  merely  left  in  the 
ditch  where  they  fell,  and  earth  from  the  side  was 
pulled  over  them.  When  Miriam  passed,  parts  of 
their  coats  were  sticking  out  of  the  grave ;  but  some 
kind  hand  had  scattered  fresh  earth  over  them  when 
I  saw  them.  Beyond,  the  sight  became  more  common. 
I  was  told  that  their  hands  and  feet  were  visible  from 
many.  And  one  poor  fellow  lay  unburied,  just  as  he 
had  fallen,  with  his  horse  across  him,  and  both  skele- 
tons. That  sight  I  was  spared,  as  the  road  near  which 
he  was  lying  was  blocked  up  by  trees,  so  we  were 
forced  to  go  through  the  woods,  to  enter,  instead  of 
passing  by,  the  Catholic  graveyard.  In  the  woods,  we 
passed  another  camp  our  men  destroyed,  while  the 
torn  branches  above  testified  to  the  number  of  shells 
our  men  had  braved  to  do  the  work.  Next  to  Mr. 
Barbee's  were  the  remains  of  a  third  camp  that  was 
burned;  and  a  few  more  steps  made  me  suddenly 
hold  my  breath,  for  just  before  us  lay  a  dead  horse 
with  the  flesh  still  hanging,  which  was  hardly  en- 
durable. Close  by  lay  a  skeleton,  —  whether  of 
man  or  horse,  I  did  not  wait  to  see.  Not  a  human 
being  appeared  until  we  reached  the  Penitentiary, 
which  was  occupied  by  our  men.  After  that,  I  saw 
crowds  of  wagons  moving  furniture  out,  but  not  a 
creature  that  I  knew.  Just  back  of  our  house  was 
all  that  remained  of  a  nice  brick  cottage  —  namely, 
four  crumbling  walls.  The  offense  was  that  the  hus- 
band was  fighting  for  the  Confederates;  so  the  wife 

198 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

was  made  to  suffer,  and  is  now  homeless,  like  many 
thousands  besides.  It  really  seems  as  though  God 
wanted  to  spare  our  homes.  The  frame  dwellings 
adjoining  were  not  touched,  even.  The  town  was 
hardly  recognizable ;  and  required  some  skill  to  avoid 
the  corners  blocked  up  by  trees,  so  as  to  get  in  at  all. 

Our  house  could  not  be  reached  by  the  front,  so 
we  left  the  buggy  in  the  back  yard,  and  running 
through  the  lot  without  stopping  to  examine  the 
storeroom  and  servants'  rooms  that  opened  wide,  I 
went  through  the  alley  and  entered  by  the  front 
door. 

Fortunate  was  it  for  this  record  that  I  under- 
took to  describe  the  sacking  only  from  Miriam's 
account.  If  I  had  waited  until  now,  it  would  never 
have  been  mentioned ;  for  as  I  looked  around,  to  at- 
tempt such  a  thing  seemed  absurd.  I  stood  in  the 
parlor  in  silent  amazement;  and  in  answer  to  Char- 
lie's "Well?"  I  could  only  laugh.  It  was  so  hard  to 
realize.  As  I  looked  for  each  well-known  article, 
I  could  hardly  believe  that  Abraham  Lincoln's  offi- 
cers had  really  come  so  low  down  as  to  steal  in  such 
a  wholesale  manner.  The  papier-mache  workbox 
Miriam  had  given  me  was  gone.  The  baby  sacque  I 
was  crocheting,  with  all  knitting  needles  and  wools, 
gone  also.  Of  all  the  beautiful  engravings  of  Annap- 
olis that  Will  Pinckney  had  sent  me,  there  remained 
a  single  one.  Gentlemen,  my  name  is  written  on 
each!  Not  a  book  remained  in  the  parlor,  except 
"Idyls  of  the  King,"  that  contained  my  name  also, 

199 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  which,  together  with  the  door-plate,  was  the 
only  case  in  which  the  name  of  Morgan  was  spared. 
They  must  have  thought  we  were  related  to  John 
Morgan,  and  wreaked  their  vengeance  on  us  for 
that  reason.  Thanks  for  the  honor,  but  there  is  not 
the  slightest  connection!  Where  they  did  not  carry 
off  articles  bearing  our  name,  they  cut  it  off,  as  in 
the  visiting-cards,  and  left  only  the  first  name. 
Every  book  of  any  value  or  interest,  except  Hume 
and  Gibbon,  was  "borrowed"  permanently.  I  re- 
gretted Macaulay  more  than  all  the  rest.  Brother's 
splendid  French  histories  went,  too;  all  except 
"L'Histoire  de  la  Bastille."  However,  as  they 
spared  father's  law  libraries  (all  except  one  volume 
they  used  to  support  a  flour  barrel  with,  while  they 
emptied  it  near  the  parlor  door),  we  ought  to  be 
thankful. 

The  dining-room  was  very  funny.  I  looked  around 
for  the  cut-glass  celery  and  preserve  dishes  that  were 
to  be  part  of  my  "dot,"  as  mother  always  said,  to- 
gether with  the  champagne  glasses  that  had  figured 
on  the  table  the  day  that  I  was  born ;  but  there  re- 
mained nothing.  There  was  plenty  of  split-up  fur- 
niture, though.  I  stood  in  mother's  room  before  the 
shattered  armoir,  which  I  could  hardly  believe  the 
same  that  I  had  smoothed  my  hair  before,  as  I  left 
home  three  weeks  previously.  Father's  was  split 
across,  and  the  lock  torn  off,  and  in  the  place  of  the 
hundreds  of  articles  it  contained,  I  saw  two  bonnets 
at  the  sight  of  which  I  actually  sat  down  to  laugh. 

200 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

One  was  mother's  velvet,  which  looked  very  much 
like  a  football  in  its  present  condition.  Mine  was  not 
to  be  found,  as  the  officers  forgot  to  return  it.  Won- 
der who  has  my  imperial?  I  know  they  never  saw 
a  handsomer  one,  with  its  black  velvet,  purple  silk, 
and  ostrich  feathers. 

I  went  to  my  room.  Gone  was  my  small  paradise! 
Had  this  shocking  place  ever  been  habitable?  The 
tall  mirror  squinted  at  me  from  a  thousand  broken 
angles.  It  looked  so  knowing!  I  tried  to  fancy  the 
Yankee  officers  being  dragged  from  under  my  bed 
by  the  leg,  thanks  to  Charles ;  but  it  seemed  too  ab- 
surd; so  I  let  them  alone.  My  desk!  What  a  sight! 
The  central  part  I  had  kept  as  a  little  curiosity  shop 
with  all  my  little  trinkets  and  keepsakes  of  which  a 
large  proportion  were  from  my  gentlemen  friends; 
I  looked  for  all  I  had  left,  found  only  a  piece  of  the 
McRae,  which,  as  it  was  labeled  in  full,  I  was  sur- 
prised they  had  spared.  Precious  letters  I  found 
under  heaps  of  broken  china  and  rags ;  all  my  notes 
were  gone,  with  many  letters.    I  looked  for  a  letter 

of  poor ,  in  cipher,  with  the  key  attached,  and 

name  signed  in  plain  hand.  I  knew  it  would  hardly 
be  agreeable  to  him  to  have  it  read,  and  it  certainly 
would  be  unpleasant  to  me  to  have  it  published ;  but 
I  could  not  find  it.  Miriam  thinks  she  saw  something 
answering  the  description,  somewhere,  though. 

Bah!  What  is  the  use  of  describing  such  a  scene?1 

1  In  her  book,  From  Flag  to  Flag,  Mrs.  Eliza  McHatton  Ripley 
gives  a  vivid  description  of  Judge  Morgan's  house  as  she  herself  saw 
it  after  the  sacking.  —  W.  D. 

20 1 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Many  suffered  along  with  us,  though  none  so  se- 
verely. Indeed,  the  Yankees  cursed  loudly  at  those 
who  did  not  leave  anything  worth  stealing.  They 
cannot  complain  of  us,  on  that  score.  All  our  hand- 
some Brussels  carpets,  together  with  Lydia's  fur, 
were  taken,  too.  What  did  they  not  take?  In  the 
garret,  in  its  darkest  corner,  a  whole  gilt-edged  china 
set  of  Lydia's  had  been  overlooked ;  so  I  set  to  work 
and  packed  it  up,  while  Charlie  packed  her  furniture 
in  a  wagon,  to  send  to  her  father. 

It  was  now  three  o'clock;  and  with  my  light  linen 
dress  thrown  off,  I  was  standing  over  a  barrel  putting 
in  cups  and  saucers  as  fast  as  I  could  wrap  them  in 
the  rags  that  covered  the  floor,  when  Mr.  Larguier 
sent  me  a  nice  little  dinner.  I  had  been  so  many 
hours  without  eating  —  nineteen,  I  think,  during 
three  of  which  I  had  slept  —  that  I  had  lost  all 
appetite;  but  nevertheless  I  ate  it,  to  show  my  ap- 
preciation. If  I  should  hereafter  think  that  the 
quantity  of  rags  was  exaggerated,  let  me  here  state 
that,  after  I  had  packed  the  barrel  and  china  with 
them,  it  made  no  perceptible  diminution  of  the  pile. 

As  soon  as  I  had  finished  my  task,  Charlie  was 
ready  to  leave  again ;  so  I  left  town  without  seeing, 
or  hearing,  any  one,  or  any  thing,  except  what  lay 
in  my  path.  As  we  drove  out  of  the  gate,  I  begged 
Charlie  to  let  me  get  my  bird,  as  I  heard  Charles 
Barker  had  him.  A  man  was  dispatched,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  returned  with  my  Jimmy.  I  have  since 
heard  that  Tiche  deserted  him  the  day  of  the  battle, 

202 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

as  I  so  much  feared  she  would;  and  that  Charles 
found  him  late  in  the  evening  and  took  charge  of 
him.  With  my  pet  once  more  with  me,  we  drove  off 
again.  I  cast  many  a  longing  look  at  the  grave- 
yard; but  knowing  Charlie  did  not  want  to  stop,  I 
said  nothing,  though  I  had  been  there  but  once  in 
three  months,  and  that  once,  six  weeks  ago.  I  could 
see  where  the  fence  had  been  thrown  down  by  our 
soldiers  as  they  charged  the  Federals,  but  it  was 
now  replaced,  though  many  a  picket  was  gone.  Once 
more  I  stopped  at  Mrs.  Brown's,  while  Charlie  went 
on  to  Clinton,  leaving  me  to  drive  mother  here  in  the 
morning.  Early  yesterday,  after  seeing  Miriam's 
piano  and  the  mattresses  packed  up  and  on  the  road, 
we  started  off  in  the  buggy,  and  after  a  tedious  ride 
through  a  melting  sun,  arrived  here  about  three 
o'clock,  having  again  missed  my  dinner,  which  I 
kept  a  profound  secret  until  supper-time. 

By  next  Ash  Wednesday,  I  will  have  learned  how 
to  fast  without  getting  sick!  Though  very  tired,  I 
sat  sewing  until  after  sunset,  dictating  a  page  and  a 
half  to  Anna,  who  was  writing  to  Howell. 

August  29,  Clinton,  La. 
Noah's  duck  has  found  another  resting-place! 
Yesterday  I  was  interrupted  while  writing,  to  pack 
up  for  another  move,  it  being  impossible  to  find  a 
boarding-house  in  the  neighborhood.  We  heard  of 
some  about  here,  and  Charlie  had  engaged  a  house 
for  his  family,  where  the  sen/ants  were  already  set- 

203 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tied,  so  I  hurried  off  to  my  task.  No  easy  one,  either, 
considering  the  heat  and  length  of  time  allowed. 
This  time  I  ate  dinner  as  I  packed,  again.  About 
four,  finding  Miriam  did  not  come  to  Mr.  Elder's  as 
she  promised,  I  started  over  to  General  Carter's 
with  her  clothes,  and  found  her  just  getting  into  the 
buggy  to  ride  over,  as  I  arrived  warm,  tired,  hardly 
able  to  stand.  After  taking  her  over,  the  General 
sent  the  buggy  back  for  Mrs.  Carter  and  myself, 
and  soon  we  were  all  assembled  waiting  for  the  cars. 
At  last,  determining  to  wait  for  them  near  the  track, 
we  started  oif  again,  General  Carter  driving  me  in 
his  buggy.  I  love  General  Carter.  Again,  after  so 
many  kind  invitations,  he  told  me  he  was  sorry  we 
would  not  remain  with  him;  if  we  were  content,  he 
would  be  only  too  happy  to  have  us  with  him;  and 
spoke  so  kindly  that  I  felt  as  though  I  had  a  Yankee 
ball  in  my  throat.  I  was  disposed  to  be  melancholy 
anyway ;  I  could  not  say  many  words  without  chok- 
ing. I  was  going  from  the  kindest  of  friends  to  a 
country  where  I  had  none  at  all;  so  could  not  feel 
very  gay.  As  we  reached  the  track,  the  cars  came 
shrieking  along.  There  was  a  pause,  a  scuffle,  during 
which  the  General  placed  me  and  my  bird  in  a  seat, 
while  Lilly,  Charlie,  Miriam,  mother,  five  children, 
and  two  servants,  with  all  the  baggage,  were  thrown 
aboard  some  way,  when  with  a  shriek  and  a  jerk  we 
were  off  again,  without  a  chance  of  saying  good- 
bye, even. 

I  enjoyed  that  ride.  It  had  but  one  fault ;  and  that 
204 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

was,  that  it  came  to  an  end.  I  would  have  wished  it 
to  spin  along  until  the  war  was  over,  or  we  in  a  set- 
tled home.  But  it  ended  at  last,  to  Jimmy's  great 
relief,  for  he  was  too  frightened  to  move  even,  and 
only  ventured  a  timid  chirp  if  the  car  stopped,  as  if 
to  ask,  "  Is  it  over?  "  Nothing  occurred  of  any  inter- 
est except  once  a  little  boy  sent  us  slightly  off  the 
track,  by  meddling  with  the  brakes. 

Landed  at  sunset,  it  is  hard  to  fancy  a  more  for- 
lorn crew,  while  waiting  at  the  depot  to  get  the  bag- 
gage off  before  coming  to  the  house.  We  burst  out 
laughing  as  we  looked  at  each  lengthened  face.  Such 
a  procession  through  the  straggling  village  has  hardly 
been  seen  before.  How  we  laughed  at  our  forlorn 
plight  as  we  trudged  through  the  hilly  streets,  — 
they  have  no  pavements  here,  —  looking  like  emi- 
grants from  the  Ould  Counthry,  as  we  have  watched 
them  in  New  Orleans ! 

At  the  house  we  found  Tiche  laid  up.  The  loaded 
wagon,  with  its  baggage,  four  mules,  three  grown 
servants,  and  four  children,  was  precipitated  from  a 
bridge  twenty-five  feet  high,  by  the  breaking  of  the 
before-mentioned  causeway,  and  landed  with  the 
whole  concern  in  deep  water  below.  Wonderful  to 
relate,  not  a  life  was  lost!  The  mattress  on  which  the 
negroes  remained  seated  floated  them  off  into  shal- 
low water.  The  only  one  hurt  was  Tiche,  who  had 
her  leg  severely  sprained.  The  baggage  was  after- 
wards fished  out,  rather  wet.  In  the  mud  next 
morning  (it  happened  late  at  night),  Dophy  found 

205 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

a  tiny  fancy  bottle  that  she  had  secreted  from  the 
Yankees;  a  present  from  Clemmy  Luzenberg,  it  was, 
and  one  of  two  things  left  in  my  curiosity  shop  by 
the  Yankees. 

After  seeing  everything  in,  we  started  off  for  the 
hotel,  where  we  arrived  after  dark,  rather  tired,  I 
think.  Not  a  comfortable  house,  either,  unless  you 
call  a  bare,  unfurnished,  dirty  room  without  shutter 
or  anything  else,  comfortable ;  particularly  when  you 
are  to  sleep  on  the  floor  with  four  children  and  three 
grown  people,  and  a  servant.  After  breakfast  we 
came  here  until  we  can  find  a  place  to  settle  in, 
which  Mr.  Marsden  has  promised  to  attend  to  for 
us.  It  is  rather  rough  housekeeping  yet,  but  Lilly 
has  not  yet  got  settled.  Our  dinner  was  rather 
primitive.  There  was  a  knife  and  fork  to  carve  the 
meat,  and  then  it  was  finished  with  spoons.  I  sat  on 
the  floor  with  my  plate,  and  a  piece  of  cornbread 
(flour  not  to  be  bought  at  any  price)  and  ate  with 
my  fingers  —  a  new  experience.  I  found  that  water 
can  be  drunk  out  of  a  cup! 

Ouf!  I  am  tired! 

August  30th. 

Still  no  prospect  of  a  lodging;  so  here  we  remain. 
I  never  before  lived  in  a  house  without  a  balcony, 
and  have  only  now  found  out  how  inconvenient  it  is. 
The  whole  establishment  consists  of  two  rooms  on 
each  side  of  a  passage  as  wide  as  the  front  door ;  and 
as  it  has  a  very  low  ceiling,  with  no  opening,  and  no 
shade  near,  it  is  decidedly  the  warmest  spot  I  ever 

206 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

inhabited.  We  all  sleep  on  the  floor  and  keep  our 
clothes  in  our  trunks  —  except  Lilly,  who  has  an 
armoir  without  doors.  Knives  and  forks  for  dinner 
to-day,  though  the  table  still  consists  of  a  single 
plank.  The  house  really  has  a  suffocating  effect  on 
me,  there  is  such  a  close  look  about  it.  The  front  is 
fully  a  foot  below  the  level  of  the  street,  while  quite 
a  flight  of  steps  leads  from  the  back  door  to  the  yard. 
In  fact,  the  whole  town  consists  of  abrupt  little 
mounds.  It  is  rather  a  pretty  place;  but  Heaven 
save  me  from  the  misery  of  living  in  it!  Miriam  is 
crazy  to  remain  —  even  advocates  that  dirty,  bare, 
shutterless  boarding-house  where  we  passed  the 
first  night,  from  what  attraction  I  cannot  imagine.  I 
am  just  as  anxious  to  get  into  the  country.  I  would 
hate  the  dull  round  of  this  little  place ;  I  prefer  soli- 
tude where  I  can  do  as  I  please  without  being 
observed.  Here  we  are  as  well  known  by  people  we 
never  before  heard  of  as  though  we  were  fellow- 
citizens. 

September  1st,  Monday. 
I  woke  up  this  morning  and,  to  my  great  surprise, 
find  that  summer  has  already  passed  away,  and  that 
we  have  already  entered  the  first  month  of  fall. 
Where  has  the  summer  gone  to?  Since  the  taking  of 
Fort  Jackson,  the  days  have  gone  by  like  a  dream. 
I  had  hardly  realized  spring,  when  now  I  find  it  is 
autumn.  I  am  content  to  let  the  time  fly,  though,  as 
every  day  brings  us  nearer  Peace  —  or  something 
else. 

207 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

How  shockingly  I  write !  Will  I  ever  again  have  a 
desk  or  a  table  to  write  on?  At  present,  my  seat  is  a 
mattress,  and  my  knee  my  desk;  and  that  is  about 
the  only  one  I  have  had  since  the  2d  of  August.  This 
is  the  dreariest  day  I  have  seen  for  some  time.  Out- 
side, it  has  been  raining  since  daybreak,  and  inside, 
no  one  feels  especially  bright  or  cheerful.  I  some- 
times wish  mother  would  carry  out  her  threat  and 
brave  the  occasional  shellings  at  Baton  Rouge.  I 
would  dare  anything,  to  be  at  home  again.  I  know 
that  the  Yankees  have  left  us  little  besides  the  bare 
house;  but  I  would  be  grateful  for  the  mere  shelter 
of  the  roof.  I  often  fancy  how  we  will  miss  little 
articles  that  we  thought  necessary  to  our  comfort 
before,  when  we  return.  .  .  .  And  the  shoes  I  paid  five 
dollars  for,  and  wore  a  single  time?  I  am  wishing  I 
had  them  now  that  I  am  almost  barefooted,  and  can- 
not find  a  pair  in  the  whole  country.  .  .  .  Would  it  not 
be  curious,  if  one  of  these  days  while  traveling  in  the 
North  (if  I  ever  travel  again),  I  should  find  some 
well-loved  object  figuring  in  a  strange  house  as  a 
"trophy  of  the  battle  of  Baton  Rouge"?  I  should 
have  to  seek  for  them  in  some  very  low  house,  per- 
haps; respectable  people  had  very  little  to  do  with 
such  disgraceful  work,  I  fancy.  Suppose  I  should 
see  father's  cigar-stand,  for  instance,  or  Miriam's 
little  statues?  I  wonder  if  the  people  would  have 
the  conscience  to  offer  to  return  them?  A  young 
lady,  passing  by  one  of  the  pillaged  houses,  expressed 
her  surprise  at  seeing  an  armoir  full  of  women's  and 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

children's  clothes  being  emptied,  and  the  contents 
tied  up  in  sheets.  "What  can  you  do  with  such 
things?"  she  asked  a  soldier  who  seemed  more 
zealous  than  the  rest.  '.'Ain't  I  got  a  wife  and  four 
children  in  the  North?  "  was  the  answer.  So  we,  who 
have  hardly  clothes  enough  for  our  own  use,  are 
stripped  to  supply  Northerners! 

One  would  think  that  I  had  no  theme  save  the 
wreck  of  our  house,  if  they  read  this.  But  I  take  it 
all  out  in  here.  I  believe  I  must  be  made  of  wood,  or 
some  other  tough  material,  not  to  feel  it  more.  I 
sometimes  ask  myself  if  it  is  because  I  did  not  care 
for  home,  that  I  take  it  so  quietly  now.  But  I  know 
that  is  not  it.  I  was  wild  about  it  before  I  knew  what 
had  happened ;  since  I  learned  all,  few  are  the  words 
that  have  escaped  my  lips  concerning  it.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  what 
all  women  crave  for  —  the  Worst.  Indeed  it  is  a  con- 
solation in  such  days  as  these  when  truth  concerning 
either  side  is  difficult  to  discover.  The  certainty  of 
anything,  fortune  or  misfortune,  is  comfort  to  me. 
I  really  feel  sorry  for  the  others  who  suffered ;  but  it 
does  not  strike  me  that  sympathy  is  necessary  in 
our  case. 

Mrs.  Flynn  came  to  Lilly's  room,  when  she  heard 
of  it,  well  prepared  for  sympathy,  with  a  large 
handkerchief  and  a  profusion  of  tears,  when  she  was 
horrified  to  find  both  her  and  Miriam  laughing  over 
the  latter's  description  of  some  comical  scene  that 
met  her  sight  in  one  of  the  rooms.  Seems  to  me  that 

209 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tears  on  all  occasions  come  in  as  the  fortieth  article, 
to  the  articles  of  belief  of  some  people. 

September  3d. 

Political  news  it  would  be  absurd  to  record;  for 
our  information  is  more  than  limited,  being  fre- 
quently represented  by  a  blank.  Of  the  thirteen 
battles  that  Gibbes  has  fought  in,  I  know  the  names 
of  four  only:  Bull  Run,  Stonebridge,  Port  Republic, 
and  Cedar  Run.  Think  of  all  I  have  yet  to  hear! 
To-day  comes  the  news  of  another  grand  affair,  the 
defeat  of  McClellan,  Pope,  and  Burnside  combined. 
If  I  dared  believe  it!  But  accounts  are  too  meagre 
as  yet.  Both  Gibbes  and  George  were  in  it,  if  there 
was  a  fight,  and  perhaps  Jimmy,  too.  Well!  I  must 
wait  in  patience.  We  have  lost  so  much  already  that 
God  will  surely  spare  those  three  to  us.  Oh !  if  they 
come  again,  if  we  can  meet  once  more,  what  will  the 
troubles  of  the  last  six  months  signify?  If  I  dared 
hope  that  next  summer  would  bring  us  Peace!  I 
always  prophesy  it  just  six  months  off;  but  do  I 
believe  it? 

Indeed,  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  us  if  it  is 
delayed  much  longer.  If  we  could  only  get  home,  it 
would  be  another  thing;  but  boarding,  how  long  will 
mother's  two  hundred  and  fifty  last?  And  that  is  all 
the  money  she  has.  As  to  the  claims,  amounting  to 
a  small  fortune,  she  might  as  well  burn  them.  They 
will  never  be  paid.  But  if  we  get  home,  what  will  we 
do  for  bedding?    The  Yankees  did  not  leave  us  a 

210 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

single  comfort,  and  only  two  old  bars  and  a  pair  of 
ragged  sheets,  which  articles  are  not  to  be  replaced 
at  any  price  in  the  Confederacy,  so  we  must  go 
without.  How  glad  I  am  that  we  gave  all  our  blan- 
kets to  our  soldiers  last  summer!  So  much  saved 
from  the  Yankees! 

Poor  Lavinia !  She  fancies  us  comfortably  settled 
at  home;  I  dare  say  she  spends  all  her  time  in  pic- 
turing to  herself  what  we  may  be  doing,  and  recall- 
ing each  piece  of  furniture  the  rooms  contained. 
Wonder  if  she  would  not  be  shocked  if  the  real  scene 
were  suddenly  revealed  to  her,  and  she  should  see 
the  desolated  house  and  see  us  fugitives  in  a  strange 
town.  Wonder  how  the  cry  of  "Where  are  those 
three  damned  Secesh  women?"  would  have  struck 
her,  had  she  heard  the  strange  oaths  and  seen  the 
eager  search  which  followed  ?  I  dare  say  it  would 
have  frightened  her  more  than  it  did  me  when  I  was 
told  of  it.  William  Waller  says  it  is  God's  mercy 
that  we  had  escaped  already,  for  we  certainly  would 
have  suffered.  I  hardly  think  we  could  have  been 
harmed,  though,  and  shall  always  regret  that  we  did 
not  return  immediately  after  the  battle.  It  took 
them  from  that  day  to  the  evacuation  to  finish  the 
work;  and  I  rather  think  that  our  presence  would 
have  protected  the  house. 

Our  servants  they  kindly  made  free,  and  told 
them  they  must  follow  them  (the  officers).  Margret 
was  boasting  the  other  day  of  her  answer,  "I  don't 
want  to  be  any  free-er  than  I  is  now  —  I  '11  stay  with 

211 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

my  mistress,"  when  Tiche  shrewdly  remarked, 
u  Pshaw!  Don't  you  know  that  if  I  had  gone,  you 'd 
have  followed  me?"  The  conduct  of  all  our  servants 
is  beyond  praise.  Five  thousand  negroes  followed 
their  Yankee  brothers  from  the  town  and  neighbor- 
hood ;  but  ours  remained.  During  the  fight,  or  flight, 
rather,  a  fleeing  officer  stopped  to  throw  a  musket 
in  Charles  Barker's  hands,  and  bade  him  fight  for  his 
liberty.  Charles  drew  himself  up,  saying,  "I  am 
only  a  slave,  but  I  am  a  Secesh  nigger,  and  won't 
fight  in  such  a  d crew!"  Exit  Yankee,  continu- 
ing his  flight  down  to  the  riverside. 

September  4th. 

I  hear  to-day  that  the  Brunots  have  returned  to 
Baton  Rouge,  determined  to  await  the  grand  finale 
there.  They,  and  two  other  families,  alone  remain. 
With  these  exceptions,  and  a  few  Dutch  and  Irish 
who  cannot  leave,  the  town  is  perfectly  deserted  by 
all  except  the  Confederate  soldiers.  I  wish  I  was 
with  them !  If  all  chance  of  finding  lodgings  here  is 
lost,  and  mother  remains  with  Lilly,  as  she  some- 
times seems  more  than  half  inclined,  and  Miriam 
goes  to  Lin  wood,  as  she  frequently  threatens,  I 
believe  I  will  take  a  notion,  too,  and  go  to  Mrs. 
Brunot!  I  would  rather  be  there,  in  all  the  uncer- 
tainty, expecting  to  be  shelled  or  burnt  out  every 
hour,  than'  here.  Ouf !  what  a  country !  Next  time 
I  go  shopping,  I  mean  to  ask  some  clerk,  out  of 
curiosity,  what  they  do  sell  in  Clinton.  The  follow- 
ing is  a  list  of  a  few  of  the  articles  that  shopkeepers 

212 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

actually  laugh  at  you  if  you  ask  for:  Glasses,  flour, 
soap,  starch,  coffee,  candles,  matches,  shoes,  combs, 
guitar-strings,  bird-seed, — in  short,  everything  that 
I  have  heretofore  considered  as  necessary  to  exis- 
tence. If  any  one  had  told  me  I  could  have  lived 
off  of  cornbread,  a  few  months  ago,  I  would  have 
been  incredulous ;  now  I  believe  it,  and  return  an  in- 
ward grace  for  the  blessing  at  every  mouthful.  I  have 
not  tasted  a  piece  of  wheatbread  since  I  left  home, 
and  shall  hardly  taste  it  again  until  the  war  is  over. 

I  do  not  like  this  small  burg.  It  is  very  straggling 
and  pretty,  but  I  would  rather  not  inhabit  it.  We 
are  as  well  known  here  as  though  we  carried  our 
cards  on  our  faces,  and  it  is  peculiarly  disagreeable 
to  me  to  overhear  myself  spoken  about,  by  people  I 
don't  know,  as  "There  goes  Miss  Morgan,"  as  that 
young  man,  for  instance,  remarked  this  morning  to  a 
crowd,  just  as  I  passed.  It  is  not  polite,  to  say  the 
least. 

Will  Carter  was  here  this  morning  and  told  me  he 
saw  Theodore  Pinckney  in  the  streets.  I  suppose  he 
is  on  his  way  home,  and  think  he  will  be  a  little  dis- 
appointed in  not  finding  us  at  Linwood  as  he 
expects,  and  still  more  so  to  hear  he  passed  through 
the  very  town  where  we  were  staying,  without 
knowing  it.  f 

Beech  Grove, 
September  6th,  Saturday. 

Another  perch  for  Noah's  duck!  Where  will  I  be 
in  a  week  or  two  from  this?    I  shall  make  a  mark, 

213 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

twenty  pages  from  here,  and  see  where  I  shall  be 
when  I  reach  it.  Here,  most  probably;  but  oh,  if  I 
could  then  be  at  home !  General  Carter,  who  spent 
the  evening  with  us  day  before  yesterday,  remarked 
that  the  first  thing  he  heard  as  he  reached  town  was 
that  all  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  Clinton  were 
hunting  for  country  lodgings  for  us.  It  was  pretty 
much  the  case.  The  General  was  as  kind  as  ever, 
bless  his  gray  head !  and  made  us  promise  to  go  back 
to  Linwood  with  him  when  he  passes  back  next 
week.  This  is  the  way  we  keep  the  promise  —  com- 
ing out  here. 

Early  yesterday  morning  we  received  a  note  from 
Eliza  Haynes,  one  of  our  indefatigable  agents,  saying 
her  grandmother,  Mrs.  McCay,  had  consented  to 
receive  us,  and  would  come  for  us  in  the  evening. 
Immediately  my  packing  task  was  begun.  But  im- 
agine my  disappointment,  just  as  I  had  finished  one 
trunk,  to  hear  mother  announce  her  determination 
to  let  us  go  alone,  while  she  remained  with  Lilly! 
Prayers,  entreaties,  tears,  arguments,  all  failed ;  and 
we  were  forced  to  submit.  So  with  a  heart  fuller 
than  I  can  express,  I  repacked  the  trunk  with 
Miriam's  and  my  clothing,  and  got  ready  to  depart. 
In  the  evening  the  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door 
with  Eliza  and  her  grandmother,  and  with  a  hasty 
and  rather  choky  good-bye  to  Lilly  and  mother,  we 
were  hurried  in,  and  in  another  moment  were  off. 

I  fancied  the  house  would  be  north  of  Clinton,  so 
of  course  the  horses  took  the  road  south.    Then  I 

214 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

decided  on  a  white  cottage  to  the  left  of  the  road, 
and  about  two  miles  out,  found  that  it  was  to  the 
right,  not  painted,  and  no  cottage  at  all,  but  a  non- 
descript building,  besides.  "Twas  ever  thus  from 
childhood's  hour!"  When  did  I  ever  fancy  any- 
thing exactly  as  it  was?  But  the  appearance  does 
not  affect  the  house,  which  is  really  very  comfort- 
able, though  apparently  unfinished.  The  same  ob- 
jection might  be  made  to  it  that  I  made  to  Mrs. 
Moore's,  for  there  is  not  a  shutter  on  the  place.  But 
fine  shade  trees  take  their  place,  and  here  I  do  not 
feel  the  want  of  them  so  much,  as  our  room  is  in  the 
back  of  the  house,  to  the  west,  where  the  rising  sun 
cannot  salute  my  nose  as  it  did  at  Mrs.  Moore's.  As 
to  what  effect  the  setting  sun  has,  I  must  wait  for 
the  evening  to  decide,  though  I  always  enjoy  that. 
At  Green  well,  we  used  to  walk  a  mile  away  from 
home  to  see  the  sun  set  in  an  open  field. 

I  find  Mrs.  McCay  an  excellent,  plain  old  lady, 
with  neither  airs  nor  pretentions,  and  very  kind- 
hearted.  Here  she  lives  alone,  with  the  exception  of 
an  orphan  girl  called  Jane,  whose  position,  half- 
menial,  half-equal,  it  would  be  hard  to  define.  Poor 
girl !  the  name  of  orphan  alone  was  enough  to  make 
me  sorry  for  her.  She  must  be  "Friday's  child"! 
she  is  so  "ready  and  willing."  Eliza,  who  it  seems 
stays  a  great  deal  with  her  grandmother,  is  one  of 
the  brightest  little  girls  I  have  seen  for  a  long  while. 
She  sings  and  plays  on  the  piano  with  a  style  and 
assurance  that  I  can  only  mutely  covet.    Why  can- 

215 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

not  I  have  the  confidence  I  see  all  others  possess? 
She  took  me  to  the  gin-house  last  evening,  though  I 
could  not  see  much,  as  it  was  almost  sunset  when  we 
arrived.  An  early  tea,  and  singing,  and  music  after, 
completed  our  evening,  and  then  we  were  shown  to 
our  room. 

Mrs.  McCay  has  only  room  for  us  two,  so  it  is 
fortunate  that  mother  would  not  come.  She  says 
she  wants  us  to  spend  a  few  days  with  her,  to  see  if 
we  like  it,  or  if  we  will  be  willing  to  be  separated 
from  mother.  In  the  mean  time,  we  can  look  around 
for  lodgings  in  a  larger  and  more  comfortable  place 
where  we  can  be  together.  She  tells  such  stories 
about  the  house  Lilly  lives  in,  of  its  age,  and  un- 
healthiness,  that  I  am  frightened  about  mother. 
She  says  she  will  die  if  she  stays  there  this  month, 
Miriam  and  Eliza  have  gone  to  town  to  see  them, 
and  are  then  going  to  Mrs.  George's  to  see  if  she  can 
accommodate  us. 

I  wanted  to  have  a  splendid  dream  last  night,  but 
failed.  It  was  pleasant,  though,  to  dream  of  welcom- 
ing George  and  Gibbes  back.  Jimmy  I  could  not 
see;  and  George  was  in  deep  mourning.  I  dreamed 
of  fainting  when  I  saw  him  (a  novel  sensation,  since 
I  never  experienced  it  awake),  but  I  speedily  came 
to,  and  insisted  on  his  "pulling  Henry  Walsh's  red 
hair  for  his  insolence,"  which  he  promised  to  do 
instantly.  How  absurd!  Dreams!  dreams!  That 
pathetic  "Miss  Sarah,  do  you  ever  dream?"  comes 
vividly  back  to  me  sometimes.    Dream?    Don't  I! 

216 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

not  the  dreams  that  he  meant;  but  royal,  purple 
dreams,  that  De  Quincey  could  not  purchase  with 
his  opium ;  dreams  that  I  would  not  forego  for  all  the 
inducements  that  could  be  offered.  I  go  to  sleep, 
and  pay  a  visit  to  heaven  or  fairyland.  I  have  white 
wings,  and  with  another,  float  in  rosy  clouds,  and 
look  down  on  the  moving  world ;  or  I  have  the  power 
to  raise  myself  in  the  air  without  wings,  and 
silently  float  wherever  I  will,  loving  all  things  and 
feeling  that  God  loves  me.  I  have  heard  Paul 
preach  to  the  people,  while  I  stood  on  a  fearful  rock 
above.  I  have  been  to  strange  lands  and  great 
cities;  I  have  talked  with  people  I  have  never 
beheld.  Charlotte  Bronte  has  spent  a  week  with  me 
—  in  my  dreams  —  and  together  we  have  talked  of 
her  sad  life.  Shakespeare  and  I  have  discussed  his 
works,  seated  t^te-a-t^te  over  a  small  table.  He 
pointed  out  the  character  of  each  of  his  heroines, 
explaining  what  I  could  not  understand  when  awake ; 
and  closed  the  lecture  with  "You  have  the  tenderest 
heart  I  have  ever  read,  or  sung  of" — which  compli- 
ment, considering  it  as  original  with  him,  rather 
than  myself,  waked  me  up  with  surprise. 

Clinton,  September  9th,  Tuesday. 
Back  again !  For  how  long,  I  know  not.  At  sunset 
Saturday,  Eliza  and  Miriam  returned  to  Mrs. 
McCay's  with  Nannie  Davidson.  Mother  had 
proved  obdurate  and  refused  to  leave  Clinton;  so 
they  had  all  gone  on,  and  spent  the  day  with  Mrs. 

217 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Haynes  instead  of  going  to  Mrs.  George's.  After 
my  quiet,  solitary  day,  I  was  glad  to  see  them  again, 
particularly  as  they  brought  confirmation  of  the 
great  victory  in  Virginia.  It  is  said  the  enemy  were 
cut  off  from  Washington,  and  that  we  were  pursuing 
them.  0  my  brothers!  If  God  will  only  spare  them ! 
I  envy  Lydia  who  is  so  near  them,  and  knows  all, 
and  can  take  care  of  them  if  they  are  hurt.  It  will  be 
several  days  at  least,  before  we  can  hear  from  them, 
if  we  hear  at  all;  for  Jimmy  has  never  yet  written  a 
line,  and  George  has  written  but  once  since  the  tak- 
ing of  the  forts,  and  that  was  before  the  battle  of 
Chickahominy.  We  can  only  wait  patiently.  Per- 
haps General  Carter  will  bring  us  news. 

Mrs.  Haynes  sent  a  very  pressing  invitation  for  us 
to  spend  the  next  day  with  her,  so,  although  it  was 
Sunday,  we  went.  I  am  becoming  dreadfully  irre- 
ligious. I  have  not  been  to  church  since  Mr. 
Gierlow  went  to  Europe  last  July.  It  is  perfectly 
shocking;  but  the  Yankees  have  kept  me  running 
until  all  pious  dispositions  have  been  shaken  out  of 
me;  so  they  are  to  blame.  Like  heathens,  we  called 
on  Miss  Comstock  as  we  passed  through  town,  and 
spent  an  hour  with  her.  Landed  at  Mr.  Haynes's, 
we  had  ample  time  to  look  around  before  he  and  his 
wife  got  back  from  church.  Here  again  I  found  what 
seems  to  be  the  prevailing  style  of  the  country,  wide- 
spread doors  and  windows,  with  neither  blinds  nor 
shade  trees  to  keep  off  the  glare  of  the  sun.  The 
dining-room  was  a  wide  hall,  where  the  rising  sun 

218 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

shone  in  your  face  at  breakfast,  and  at  dinner,  being 

directly  overhead,  seemed  to  shine  in  at  both  ends  at 

once.  A  splendid  arrangement  for  a  Fire  Worshiper; 

but  I  happened  to  be  born  in  America,  instead  of 

Persia,  so  fail  to  appreciate  it. 

September  ioth. 

Yesterday  I  was  interrupted  to  undertake  a  very 
important  task.  The  evening  before,  mother  and 
Lilly  happened  to  be  in  a  store  where  two  officers 
were  buying  materials  for  making  shirts,  and  volun- 
teered to  make  them  for  them,  which  offer  they 
gladly  accepted,  though  neither  party  knew  the 
other.  They  saw  that  they  were  friends  of  Charlie, 
so  had  no  scruples  about  offering  their  services ;  the 
gentlemen  saw  that  they  were  ladies,  and  very  kind 
ones,  besides,  so  made  no  difficulty  about  accepting. 
Lilly  undertook  one  of  purple  merino,  and  I  took  a 
dark  blue  one.  Miriam  nominally  helped  her;  but 
her  very  sore  finger  did  not  allow  her  to  do  much. 
Mother  slightly  assisted  me;  but  I  think  Lilly  and  I 
had  the  best  of  the  task.  All  day  we  worked,  and 
when  evening  came,  continued  sewing  by  the  light 
of  these  miserable  home-made  candles.  Even  then 
we  could  not  finish,  but  had  to  get  up  early  this 
morning,  as  the  gentlemen  were  to  leave  for  Port 
Hudson  at  nine  o'clock.  We  finished  in  good  time, 
and  their  appearance  recompensed  us  for  our 
trouble.  Lilly's  was  trimmed  with  folds  of  blue 
from  mine,  around  collar,  cuffs,  pockets,  and  down 
the   front   band;   while   mine  was   pronounced    a 

219 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

chef  d'oeuvre,  trimmed  with  bias  folds  of  tiny  red  and 
black  plaid.  With  their  fresh  colors  and  shining 
pearl  buttons,  they  were  really  very  pretty.  We 
sent  word  that  we  would  be  happy  to  make  as  many 
as  they  chose  for  themselves  or  their  friends,  and  the 
eldest,  with  many  fears  that  it  was  an  "imposition" 
and  we  were  "too  good,"  and  much  more  of  the  same 
kind,  left  another  one  with  Charlie  for  us.  We  cannot 
do  too  much,  or  even  enough,  for  our  soldiers.  I 
believe  that  is  the  universal  sentiment  of  the  women 
of  the  South. 

Well,  but  how  did  we  get  back  here?  I  hardly 
know.  It  seems  to  me  we  are  being  swayed  by  some 
kind  of  destiny  which  impels  us  here  or  there,  with 
neither  rhyme  nor  reason,  and  whether  we  will  or  no. 
Such  homeless,  aimless,  purposeless,  wandering 
individuals  are  rarely  seen.  From  one  hour  to  an- 
other, we  do  not  know  what  is  to  become  of  us.  We 
talk  vaguely  of  going  home  "when  the  Yankees  go 
away."  When  will  that  be?  One  day  there  is  not  a 
boat  in  sight;  the  next,  two  or  three  stand  off  from 
shore  to  see  what  is  being  done,  ready,  at  the  first 
sight  of  warlike  preparation,  to  burn  the  town  down. 
It  is  particularly  unsafe  since  the  news  from  Vir- 
ginia, when  the  gunboats  started  from  Bayou  Goula, 
shelling  the  coast  at  random,  and  destroying  every- 
thing that  was  within  reach,  report  says.  Of  course, 
we  cannot  return  to  our  homes  when  commissioned 
officers  are  playing  the  part  of  pirates,  burning, 
plundering,  and  destroying  at  will,  with  neither  law 

220 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

nor  reason.  Donaldson ville  they  burned  before  I 
left  Baton  Rouge,  because  some  fool  fired  a  shotgun 
at  a  gunboat  some  miles  above;  Bayou  Sara  they 
burned  while  we  were  at  General  Carter's,  for  some 
equally  reasonable  excuse.  The  fate  of  Baton  Rouge 
hangs  on  a  still  more  slender  thread.  I  would  give 
worlds  if  it  were  all  over. 

At  Mrs.  Haynes's  we  remained  all  night,  as  she 
sent  the  carriage  back  without  consulting  us.  Mon- 
day we  came  to  town  and  spent  the  day  with  Lilly. 
How  it  was,  I  can't  say;  but  we  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  was  best  to  quit  our  then  residence,  and 
either  go  back  to  Linwood  or  to  a  Mrs.  Somebody 
who  offered  to  take  us  as  boarders.  We  went  back 
to  Mrs.  McCay's,  to  tell  her  of  our  determination, 
and  in  the  morning  took  leave  of  her  and  came  back 
home. 

We  hear  so  much  news,  piece  by  piece,  that  one 
would  imagine  some  definite  result  would  follow, 
and  bring  us  Peace  before  long.  The  Virginia  news, 
after  being  so  great  and  cheering,  has  suddenly 
ceased  to  come.  No  one  knows  the  final  result.  The 
last  report  was  that  we  held  Arlington  Heights. 
Why  not  Washington,  consequently?  Cincinnati 
(at  last  accounts)  lay  at  our  mercy.  From  Coving- 
ton, Kirby  Smith  had  sent  over  a  demand  for  its 
surrender  in  two  hours.  Would  it  not  be  glorious  to 
avenge  New  Orleans  by  such  a  blow?  But  since  last 
night  the  telegraph  is  silent. 

News  has  just  come  of  some  nice  little  affair 

221 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

between  our  militia  in  Opelousas  and  the  Yankees 
from  New  Orleans,  in  which  we  gave  them  a  good 
thrashing,  besides  capturing  arms,  prisoners,  and 
ammunition.  "It  never  rains  but  it  pours"  is 
George's  favorite  proverb.  With  it  comes  the 
"rumor"  that  the  Yankees  are  preparing  to  evacu- 
ate the  city.  If  it  could  be!  Oh,  if  God  would  only 
send  them  back  to  their  own  country,  and  leave 
ours  in  peace!  I  wish  them  no  greater  punishment 
than  that  they  may  be  returned  to  their  own  homes, 
with  the  disgrace  of  their  outrages  here  ever  before 
their  eyes.  That  would  kill  an  honest  man,  I  am 
sure. 

Sunday,  September  14th,  1862. 
I  have  been  so  busy  making  Lieutenant  Bourge's 
shirt  that  I  have  not  had  time  to  write,  besides  hav- 
ing very  little  to  write  about.  So  my  industry  saved 
my  paper  and  spared  these  pages  a  vast  amount  of 
trash.  I  would  not  let  any  one  touch  Lieutenant 
Bourge's  shirt  except  myself ;  and  last  evening, 
when  I  held  it  up  completed,  the  loud  praises  it 
received  satisfied  me  it  would  answer.  Miriam  and 
Miss  Ripley  declared  it  the  prettiest  ever  made.  It 
is  dark  purple  merino.  The  bosom  I  tucked  with 
pleats  a  quarter  of  an  inch  deep,  all  the  way  up  to 
the  collar,  and  stitched  a  narrow  crimson  silk  braid 
up  the  centre  to  hold  it  in  its  place.  Around  the 
collar,  cuffs,  pockets,  and  band  down  the  front,  the 
red  cord  runs,  forming  a  charming  contrast  to  the 

222 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

dark  foundation.  Indeed,  I  devoted  the  sole  article 
the  Yankees  let  fall  from  my  two  workboxes  —  a 
bunch  of  soutache  —  to  the  work.  Large  white 
pearl  buttons  completed  the  description,  and  my 
shirt  is  really  as  quiet,  subdued,  and  pretty  a  one  as 
I  ever  saw.  I  should  first  hear  the  opinion  of  the 
owner,  though.  If  he  does  not  agree  with  all  the 
others,  I  shall  say  he  has  no  taste. 

I  got  a  long  sweet  letter  from  Sophie  on  Friday 
that  made  me  happy  for  the  whole  day.  They  were 
about  leaving  for  Alexandria.  I  was  glad  to  hear 
they  would  be  out  of  danger,  but  still  I  was  sorry 
they  were  going  so  far  away.  I  have  been  laying  a 
hundred  wild  schemes  to  reach  Baton  Rouge  and 
spend  a  day  or  two  with  them,  which  is  impossible 
now.  Sophie  writes  just  as  she  talks  —  and  that 
means  remarkably  well,  so  I  can  at  least  have  the 
pleasure  of  corresponding.  At  Dr.  Carnal's  they 
will  be  out  of  the  reach  of  all  harm  and  danger;  so  I 
ought  to  rejoice.  There  is  one  thing  in  which  Sophie 
and  I  agree,  and  that  is  in  making  Stonewall  Jack- 
son our  hero.  Talk  of  Beauregard!  he  never  had 
my  adoration;  but  Stonewall  is  the  greatest  man 
of  the  age,  decidedly. 

Still  no  authentic  reports  of  the  late  battles  in 
Virginia.  I  say  late,  referring  to  those  fought  two 
weeks  ago.  From  the  Federal  accounts,  glowing  as 
they  usually  are,  I  should  gather  the  idea  that  their 
rout  was  complete.  I  cannot  imagine  why  we  can 
hear  nothing  more  from  our  own  side.  .  .  . 

223 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  think  my  first  act  on  my  return  home  will  be  to 
take  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  piece  of  bread,  two  luxuries 
of  which  I  have  been  deprived  for  a  long  while. 
Miriam  vows  to  devour  an  unheard-of  number  of 
biscuits,  too.  How  many  articles  we  considered  as 
absolutely  necessary,  before,  have  we  now  been 
obliged  to  dispense  with!  Nine  months  of  the  year 
I  reveled  in  ice,  thought  it  impossible  to  drink  water 
without  it.  Since  last  November,  I  have  tasted  it 
but  once,  and  that  once  by  accident.  And  oh,  yes! 
I  caught  some  hail-stones  one  day  at  Linwood !  Ice- 
cream, lemonade,  and  sponge  cake  was  my  chief 
diet;  it  was  a  year  last  July  since  I  tasted  the  two 
first,  and  one  since  I  have  seen  the  last.  Bread  I 
believed  necessary  to  life;  vegetables,  senseless.  The 
former  I  never  see,  and  I  have  been  forced  into  culti- 
vating at  least  a  toleration  of  the  latter.  Snap  beans 
I  can  actually  swallow,  sweet  potatoes  I  really  like, 
and  one  day  at  Dr.  Nolan's  I  "bolted"  a  mouthful 
of  tomatoes,  and  afterwards  kept  my  seat  with  the 
heroism  of  a  martyr.  These  are  the  minor  trials  of 
war.  If  that  were  all  —  if  coarse,  distasteful  food 
were  the  only  inconvenience! 

When  I  think  of  what  Lavinia  must  suffer  so  far 
from  us,  and  in  such  ignorance  of  our  condition,  our 
trials  seem  nothing  in  comparison  to  hers.  And 
think  how  uneasy  Brother  must  be,  hearing  of  the 
battle,  and  not  knowing  where  we  fled  to!  For  he 
has  not  heard  of  us  for  almost  two  months.  In  return 
we  are  uneasy  about  him  and  Sister.   If  New  Orleans 

224 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

is  attacked,  what  will  become  of  them  with  all  those 

children? 

Tuesday,  September  16th. 

Yesterday  Miriam  determined  to  go  to  Lin  wood, 
and  consequently  I  had  a  severe  task  of  trunk- 
packing,  one  of  my  greatest  delights,  however.  I 
hate  to  see  any  one  pack  loosely  or  in  a  slovenly 
manner.  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I  never  let  any 
one  do  it  if  I  am  able  to  stand.  This  morning  was 
appointed  as  our  day  for  leaving,  but  I  persuaded 
her  to  wait  until  to-morrow,  in  hope  that  either  the 
General,  or  news  from  Virginia,  would  arrive  this 
evening.  Bless  this  village!  It  is  the  meanest  place 
for  news  that  I  ever  was  in.  Not  a  word  can  be 
gathered,  except  what  is  false  or  unfounded;  and 
they  are  even  tired  of  that,  in  the  last  few  days. 

Talk  of  Baton  Rouge  turning  Yankee,  as  the 
report  went  here!  Of  the  three  or  four  there  who 
took  the  oath,  not  one  can  be  compared  to  some  loyal 
citizens  of  this  small  burg.  Why,  I  talked  to  two 
gentlemen  yesterday  who,  if  it  were  not  for  the  dis- 
grace and  danger  incurred  by  bearing  the  name,  I 
should  style  Union  men,  and  talked  or  rather  listened 
to  them,  until  my  spirits  were  reduced  to  the  lowest 
ebb.  People  were  shocked  at  our  daring  to  believe 
there  lived  gentlemen  and  Christians  in  the  North  — 
I  mean  those  wild  fanatics,  who  could  only  take  in 
one  idea  at  a  time,  and  rarely  divested  their  brains 
of  that  one  to  make  room  for  a  newer  one,  were 
shocked  at  our  belief;  but  if  they  could  converse 

225 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

with  a  few  here,  that  I  could  point  out,  our  gnat  of 
common  sense  would  be  swallowed  by  this  be- 
hemoth of  heterodoxy. 

This  morning  Mrs.  Bar,  Miss  Bernard,  and  a  Miss 
Mud  came  to  town  and  surprised  us  by  a  most  unex- 
pected visit.  They  spent  the  day  with  us,  and  have 
just  now  driven  off  on  their  return  home,  through 
this  drizzly,  misting  evening.  A  while  ago  a  large 
cavalry  company  passed,  at  the  corner,  on  their  way 
from  Port  Hudson  to  Camp  Moore,  the  report  is. 
They  raised  their  hats  to  us,  seeing  us  at  the  gate, 
and  we  waved  our  handkerchiefs  in  return,  each 
with  a  silent  "God  bless  you,"  I  am  sure. 

As  though  to  prove  my  charge  unjust,  news  comes 
pouring  in.  Note  we  a  few  items,  to  see  how  many 
will  prove  false.  First,  we  have  taken  Baltimore 
without  firing  a  gun ;  Maryland  has  risen  en  masse  to 
join  our  troops ;  Longstreet  and  Lee  are  marching  on 
Washington  from  the  rear;  the  Louisiana  troops  are 
ordered  home  to  defend  their  own  State  —  thank 
God!  if  it  will  only  bring  the  boys  back!  Then 
comes  tidings  of  nine  gunboats  at  Baton  Rouge; 
Ponchatoula  on  the  railroad  taken  by  Yankees ;  Camp 
Moore  and  three  batteries,  ditto.  Not  so  cheering! 
If  that  is  so,  Clinton  lies  within  reach,  being  thirty- 
five  miles  off. 

Leaving  much  the  most  valuable  portion  of  our 
clothing  here,  the  Yankees  will  probably  appropri- 
ate what  little  they  spared  us  and  leave  us  fairly 
destitute;  for  we  take  only  summer  clothes  to  Lin- 

226 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

wood.  I  have  plenty  of  underclothes,  but  the  other 
day,  when  I  unpacked  the  large  trunk  from  Dr. 
Enders's,  I  found  I  had  just  two  dresses  for  winter; 
a  handsome  blue  silk  I  bought  just  two  years  ago 
last  spring,  and  one  heavy  blue  merino  that  does  not 
fit  me.  What  an  outfit  for  winter!  Miriam  has  two 
poplins  and  a  black  silk,  and  mother  a  wine-colored 
merino,  only.  But  each  of  us  is  blessed  with  a  warm 
cloak,  and  are  correspondingly  grateful.  I  was  con- 
fident I  had  saved  my  green,  dark  blue,  and  brown 
silk  dresses,  but  the  Yankees  saved  them  instead, 
for  me,  or  their  suffering  sweethearts,  rather.  On 
the  other  hand,  taking  so  many  necessary  articles 
to  Lin  wood,  the  risk  of  losing  them  is  the  same.  An 
attack  on  Port  Hudson  is  apprehended,  and  if  it 
falls,  General  Carter's  house  will  be  decidedly  unsafe 
from  Yankee  vengeance.  The  probability  is  that 
it  will  burn,  as  they  have  been  daily  expecting  ever 
since  the  Yankees  occupied  Baton  Rouge.  The  risk 
seems  equal,  either  way.  Go  or  stay,  the  danger 
seems  the  same.  Shall  we  go,  then,  for  variety,  or  die 
here  of  stagnation  while  waiting  for  the  Yankees  to 
make  up  their  minds?  I  would  rather  be  at  neither 
place,  just  now;  in  fact  I  could  hardly  name  the 
place  I  should  like  to  be  in  now,  unless  it  were  Europe 
or  the  Sandwich  Islands;  but  I  love  Linwood  and 
its  dear  inhabitants,  and  under  other  circumstances 
should  be  only  too  happy  to  be  there.  I  was  regret- 
ting the  other  day  that  our  life  was  now  so  monoto- 
nous ;  almost  longed  for  the  daily  alarms  we  had  when 

227 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

under  Yankee  rule  in  Baton  Rouge.   Stirring  times 
are  probably  ahead. 

Lin  wood, 
September  17th,  Wednesday. 

Still  floating  about!  This  morning  after  break- 
fast, General  Carter  made  his  appearance,  and  in 
answer  to  his  question  as  to  whether  we  were  ready- 
to  leave  with  him,  Miriam  replied,  "Yes,  indeed!" 
heartily,  glad  to  get  away  from  Clinton,  where  I 
have  detained  her  ever  since  the  day  Theodore 
returned  home,  to  her  great  disgust.  As  our  trunk 
was  already  packed,  it  did  not  take  many  minutes 
to  get  ready ;  and  in  a  little  while,  with  a  protracted 
good-bye,  we  were  on  our  way  to  the  depot,  which 
we  reached  some  time  before  the  cars  started. 
Though  glad  to  leave  Clinton,  I  was  sorry  to  part 
with  mother.  For  ten  days  she  has  been  unable  to 
walk,  with  a  sore  on  her  leg  below  the  knee;  and  I 
want  to  believe  she  will  miss  me  while  I  am  away.  I 
could  not  leave  my  bird  in  that  close,  ill-ventilated 
house.  He  has  never  sung  since  I  recovered  him ;  and 
I  attribute  his  ill  health  or  low  spirits  to  that 
unhealthy  place,  and  thought  Linwood  might  be 
beneficial  to  him,  too;  so  brought  him  with  me,  to 
see  what  effect  a  breath  of  pure  air  might  have. 

We  were  the  only  ladies  on  the  cars,  except  Mrs. 
Brown,  who  got  off  halfway;  but  in  spite  of  that, 
had  a  very  pleasant  ride,  as  we  had  very  agreeable 
company.  The  train  only  stopped  thirteen  times  in 
the  twenty  miles.  Five  times  to  clear  the  brushwood 

228 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

from  the  telegraph  lines,  once  running  back  a  mile 
to  pick  up  a  passenger,  and  so  on,  to  the  great  indig- 
nation of  many  of  the  passengers  aboard,  who  would 
occasionally  cry  out,  "Hello!  if  this  is  the  'clearing- 
up'  train,  we  had  better  send  for  a  hand-car!" 
"What  the  devil's  the  matter  now?"  until  the 
General  gravely  assured  them  that  it  was  an  old 
habit  of  this  very  accommodating  train,  which  in 
summer-time  stopped  whenever  the  passengers 
wished  to  pick  blackberries  on  the  road. 

Many  soldiers  were  aboard  on  their  way  to  Port 
Hudson,  to  rejoin  their  companies.  One  gallant  one 
offered  me  a  drink  of  water  from  his  canteen,  which 
I  accepted  out  of  mere  curiosity  to  see  what  water 
from  such  a  source  tasted  of.  To  my  great  surprise, 
I  found  it  tasted  just  like  any  other.  The  General 
introduced  a  Mr.  Crawford  to  us,  who  took  the  seat 
next  to  me,  as  the  one  next  to  Miriam  was  already 
occupied,  and  proved  a  very  pleasant  and  talkative 
compagnon  de  voyage.  General  Carter's  query  as  to 
my  industry  since  he  had  seen  me,  brought  my 
acknowledgment  of  having  made  two  shirts,  one  of 
which  I  sent  yesterday.  Who  to?  was  the  next 
question.  I  gave  the  name,  adding  that  I  did  not 
know  the  gentleman,  and  he  was  under  the  impres- 
sion that  it  was  made  by  mother.  "  I  '11  see  that  he  is 
undeceived!"  cried  the  General.  "Hanged  if  I  don't 
tell  him!"  "Thirtieth  Louisiana,  you  say?"  queried 
Mr.  Crawford.  "That  is  the  very  one  I  am  going 
to!    I  will  tell  him  myself!"    So  my  two  zealous 

229 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

champions  went  on,  the  General  ending  with  "See 
to  it,  Crawford;  Mrs.  Morgan  shall  not  have  the 
credit!"  as  though  there  was  any  great  merit  in 
sewing  for  one's  countrymen !  Our  new  acquaintance 
handed  me  from  the  cars  as  we  reached  Linwood, 
and  stood  talking  while  the  accommodating  train 
slowly  rolled  out  its  freight.  He  told  me  he  was 
going  to  send  me  a  tiny  sack  of  coffee,  which  propo- 
sition, as  it  did  not  meet  with  the  slightest  encour- 
agement, will  of  course  never  be  thought  of  again. 
I  noticed,  too,  on  the  train,  one  of  the  Arkansas's 
crew.  The  same  who,  though  scarcely  able  to  stand 
on  a  severely  wounded  foot,  made  such  a  fuss  about 
riding  in  a  carriage  while  "real  ladies"  had  to  walk. 
Of  course  he  did  not  recognize  us,  any  more  than  we 
would  have  known  him  if  Dr.  Brown  had  not  pointed 
him  out.  I  hear  all  of  them  are  at  Port  Hudson. 
Anna  told  me,  as  we  got  here,  that  Dr.  Addison  (the 
one  I  disliked  because  he  was  so  scrupulously  neat 
while  the  others  were  dressed,  or  rather  undressed, 
for  working)  was  here  yesterday,  and  inquired  for 
the  Miss  Morgans,  saying  they  were  the  most  charm- 
ing young  ladies  he  had  ever  met.  On  what  he 
founded  his  opinion,  or  how  he  happened  to  inquire 
for  us  in  this  part  of  the  country,  I  cannot  imagine. 
The  General  brings  news  of  the  boys  from  Jack- 
son. He  there  met  an  officer  who  left  Stonewall 
Jackson's  command  on  the  2d  inst.,  and  says  Gibbes 
was  unhurt,  God  be  praised !  Another  saw  George  a 
week  ago  in  Richmond,  still  lame,  as  the  cap  of  his 

230 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

knee  had  slipped  in  that  fall  last  spring.  Of  Jimmy 
we  hear  not  a  word,  not  even  as  to  where  he  is.  It 
seems  as  though  we  are  destined  never  to  hear  again. 

September  20th,  Saturday. 

General  Carter  has  just  received  a  letter  from 
Lydia,  which  contains  what  to  me  is  the  most  mel- 
ancholy intelligence  —  the  news  of  the  death  of 
Eugene  Fowler,1  who  was  killed  on  the  226.  of 
August,  in  some  battle  or  skirmish  in  Virginia. 
Poor  Eugene!  .  .  .  Does  it  not  seem  that  this  war 
will  sweep  off  all  who  are  nearest  and  dearest,  as  well 
as  most  worthy  of  life,  leaving  only  those  you  least 
care  for,  unharmed? 

September  21st. 

After  supper  last  night,  by  way  of  variety,  Anna, 
Miriam,  and  I  came  up  to  our  room,  and  after  un- 
dressing, commenced  popping  corn  and  making 
candy  in  the  fireplace.  We  had  scarcely  commenced 
when  three  officers  were  announced,  who  found 
their  way  to  the  house  to  get  some  supper,  they 
having  very  little  chance  of  reaching  Clinton  before 
morning,  as  the  cars  had  run  off  the  track.  Of 
course,  we  could  not  appear;  and  they  brought  bad 
luck  with  them,  for  our  corn  would  not  pop,  and  our 
candy  burned,  while  to  add  to  our  distress  the  odor 
of  broiled  chicken  and  hot  biscuit  was  wafted  up- 
stairs, after  a  while,  in  the  most  provoking  way.  In 
vain  we  sent  the  most  pathetic  appeals  by  each  serv- 

1  A  cousin. 
231 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ant,  for  a  biscuit  apiece,  after  our  hard  work.  Mrs. 
Carter  was  obdurate  until,  tired  out  with  our  mes- 
sages, she  at  last  sent  us  an  empty  jelly-cup,  a  shred 
of  chip  beef,  two  polished  drumsticks,  and  half  a 
biscuit  divided  in  three.  With  that  bountiful  repast 
we  were  forced  to  be  content  and  go  to  bed. 

At  sunrise  this  morning,  Mrs.  [  Carter  left  to  go 
down  to  her  father  in  Iberville,  to  see  her  step- 
mother who  is  expected  to  die.  Scarcely  had  she 
gone  when  six  more  officers  and  soldiers  came  in 
from  the  still  stationary  cars  to  get  their  breakfast. 
We  heard  that  Mr.  Marsden,  too,  was  down  there, 
so  the  General  sent  him  a  nice  breakfast,  and  I  sent 
my  love  with  it;  but  he  had  already  breakfasted  at 
Mr.  Elder's.  As  soon  as  they  left,  we  prepared  for 
church,  and  just  as  we  were  ready,  Captain  Brown 
and  Mr.  Addison  were  announced.  The  Doctor 
greeted  us  with  an  elegant  bow,  but  they  did  not 
remain  long,  as  we  were  about  going  out. 

Many  officers  were  in  church,  and  as  I  passed  out, 
Colonel  Breaux  joined  me,  and  escorted  Miriam  and 
me  to  the  carriage,  where  we  stood  talking  some 
time  under  the  trees  before  getting  in.  He  gave  us  a 
most  pressing  invitation  to  name  a  day  to  visit  the 
camp  that  he  might  "have  the  pleasure  of  showing 
us  the  fortifications,"  and  we  said  we  would  beg  the 
General's  permission  to  do  so.  Charming  Colonel 
Breaux!  Like  all  nice  men,  he  is  married,  of  course. 
He  and  another  officer  drove  just  behind  our  car- 

232 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

riage  in  coming  home,  until  we  came  to  the  fork  of 
the  road.  Then,  leaning  from  their  buggy,  both 
gentlemen  bowed  profoundly,  which  we  as  cordially 
returned.  Two  more  behind  followed  their  example, 
and  to  our  great  surprise,  ten,  who  were  seated  in  a 
small  wagon  drawn  by  two  diminutive  mules,  bowed 
also,  and,  not  content  with  that,  rose  to  their  feet  as 
the  distance  between  the  two  roads  increased,  and 
raised  their  caps,  though  in  the  most  respectful 
silence.  Rather  queer;  and  I  would  have  said  im- 
pertinent had  they  been  any  others  than  Confeder- 
ates fighting  for  us,  who,  of  course,  are  privileged 
people. 

September  24th. 

Yesterday  the  General  saluted  us  with  "Young 
ladies,  if  you  will  ride  in  a  Confederate  carriage,  you 
may  go  to  dress  parade  this  evening."  Now,  in 
present  phraseology,  "  Confederate  "  means  anything 
that  is  rough,  unfinished,  unfashionable,  or  poor. 
You  hear  of  Confederate  dresses,  which  means  last 
year's.  Confederate  bridle  means  a  rope  halter. 
Confederate  silver,  a  tin  cup  or  spoon.  Confederate 
flour  is  corn  meal,  etc.  In  this  case  the  Confederate 
carriage  is  a  Jersey  wagon  with  four  seats,  a  top  of 
hickory  slats  covered  with  leather,  and  the  whole 
drawn  by  mules.  We  accepted  gladly,  partly  for 
the  ride  and  sight,  partly  to  show  we  were  not 
ashamed  of  a  very  comfortable  conveyance;  so  with 
Mrs.  Badger  as  chaperon,  we  went  off  in  grand 
style.    I  must  say  I  felt  rather  abashed  and  wished 

233 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

myself  at  home  as  we  drove  into  town,  and  had  the 
gaze  of  a  whole  regiment  riveted  on  us.  But  soon 
the  men  fell  in  line,  and  I  did  not  feel  so  painfully 
conspicuous.  I  was  amused  at  a  contrast  near  by, 
too.  There  was  but  one  carriage  present,  besides 
ours,  though  there  were  half  a  dozen  ladies  on  horse- 
back. This  carriage  was  a  very  fine  one,  and  in  it  sat 
three  of  the  ugliest,  dowdiest,  worst  dressed  females 
I  ever  saw.  We  three  girls  sat  in  our  rough  carriage 
as  comfortable  as  could  be,  dressed  —  well,  we 
could  not  have  been  dressed  better  — and  looking 
our  very  best.  Sans  mentir,  I  think  the  Confeder- 
ates were  much  the  most  respectable. 

And  what  a  sad  sight  the  Fourth  Louisiana  was, 
that  was  then  parading!  Men  that  had  fought  at 
Shiloh  and  Baton  Rouge  were  barefooted.  Rags 
was  their  only  uniform,  for  very  few  possessed  a 
complete  suit,  and  those  few  wore  all  varieties  of 
colors  and  cuts.  Hats  could  be  seen  of  every  style 
and  shape,  from  the  first  ever  invented  down  to  the 
last  one  purchased  evidently  some  time  since.  Yet 
he  who  had  no  shoes  looked  as  happy  as  he  who  had, 
and  he  who  had  a  cap  had  something  to  toss  up, 
that's  all. 

Four  or  five  that  we  knew  gathered  around  our 
vehicle  and  talked  to  us.  Mr.  Heuston  told  me  he 
heard  I  had  been  thrown,  severely  injured,  had  a 
narrow  escape,  etc.  Was  not  thrown!  Saddle 
turned.  A  few  steps  off  we  recognized  Mr.  Scales. 
He  would  stare  very  hard  at  us,  and  if  we  turned 

234 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

towards  him,  would  look  quickly  the  other  way  as 
though  afraid  to  meet  our  gaze.  Presently  he  gave  us 
an  opportunity,  and  we  bowed.  He  came  forward 
eagerly,  blushing  deeply,  and  looking  very  much 
pleased,  and  shook  hands  with  us,  and  remained 
some  time  talking.  He  said  he  had  not  heard  of  our 
arrival,  but  would  call  as  soon  as  possible.  Mr. 
Talbot  had  joined  Breckinridge. 

Having  seen  the  last  of  that  parade,  he  invited  us 
to  see  that  of  his  sailors,  which  was  next;  but  it  was 
too  far;  so  we  turned  off  to  see  Colonel  Breaux's,  a 
mile  away.  His,  the  Thirtieth  Louisiana,  is  a  beau- 
tiful encampment  on  a  large  open  common.  Parade 
was  almost  over  as  we  reached  there,  and  soon  the 
Colonel  came  to  meet  us.  I  did  not  look  at  the  drill. 
I  was  watching  the  hundreds  of  tents  —  it  looked 
like  a  great  many  —  and  was  wondering  how  men 
could  live  in  such  places,  and  was  trying  to  fancy 
what  George's  or  Gibbes's  looked  like.  It  was 
pleasant  to  watch  the  barefoot  soldiers  race  around 
like  boys  let  loose  from  school,  tossing  caps  and 
chips  at  two  old  gray  geese  that  flew  in  circles 
around  the  encampment,  just  as  though  they  had 
never  had  more  earnest  work.  One  gray-headed 
man  stood  in  the  door  of  his  tent,  while  a  black- 
headed  young  one  danced  before  him,  to  his  own 
whistle,  with  his  arms  akimbo.  Altogether  it  was  a 
very  pretty  picture ;  but  poor  men !  how  can  they  be 
happy  in  these  tents? 


235 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Sarah  Morgan.   X. 

September  26th,  Friday. 

My  mark  finds  me  at  Linwood,  though  I  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  that  it  would.  Wonder  where 
twenty  pages  beyond  will  find  me?  At  home,  I  hope 
and  pray,  though  I  am  as  happy  here  as  I  could 
possibly  be  in  any  place  on  earth. 

Stirring  news  from  our  armies  comes  pouring  in. 
Sunday,  Colonel  Breaux  told  me  of  Wool's  defeat, 
and  the  great  number  of  prisoners,  cannon,  and  the 
large  supplies  of  stores  and  ammunition  that  we  had 
captured.  Then  Tuesday  we  heard  of  three  great 
battles  in  Maryland,  the  third  one  still  continuing; 
but  no  particulars  of  any  of  them.  Yesterday  came 
tidings  of  our  having  recrossed  the  Potomac,  and 
to-day  we  hear  that  McClellan's  army  has  been  cut 
to  pieces;  but  whether  it  is  the  same  old  fight  or  a 
new  one,  I  cannot  as  yet  learn ;  for  reliable  informa- 
tion is  not  easily  obtained  in  America  at  this  period. 

Did  I  ever  record  how  little  truth  there  was  in  any 
of  that  last  Clinton  news?  It  speaks  for  itself, 
though.  Not  a  boat  lay  at  Baton  Rouge;  Camp 
Moore  was  not  even  threatened;  Ponchatoula  Sta- 
tion was  burned,  but  the  one  battery  was  retaken  by 
our  men  the  same  night. 

But  still  these  false  reports  cannot  equal  the 
Yankees'.  Take,  for  instance,  the  report  of  the 
Captain  of  the  Essex.  I  give  General  Carter  as  my 
authority.  The  Captain  reports  having  been  fired 
on  by  a  battery  of  thirty-six  large  guns,  at  Port 

236 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Hudson,  some  weeks  ago,  when  he  opened  fire  and 
silenced  them,  one  after  the  other,  from  the  first  to 
the  last.  Not  a  shot  from  the  "rebel"  batteries 
reached  them,  and  not  a  casualty  on  their  side 
occurred.  But  the  loss  of  the  Confederates  must 
have  been  awful.  He  came  within  —  I  forget  how 
many  —  yards  from  the  shore,  and  there  was  not  a 
live  man  to  be  seen.  He  did  not  mention  if  there 
were  any  dead  ones !  Now  for  the  other  side.  There 
were  but  four  guns  mounted  there  at  the  time.  Shot 
and  shell  from  those  four  certainly  reached  some- 
thing, for  one  was  seen  to  enter  a  porthole,  from 
whence  issued  frightful  shrieks  soon  after,  and  it  is 
well  known  that  the  Essex  is  so  badly  injured  by 
"something"  as  to  be  in  a  sinking  condition,  and 
only  kept  afloat  by  a  gunboat  lashed  on  either  side. 
If  she  is  uninjured,  why  did  she  not  return  and  burn 
Natchez  as  she  announced?  In  leaving  Port  Hudson, 
where  "not  a  live  man  was  to  be  seen"  (nor  a  dead 
one  to  be  found),  she  stopped  at  Mr.  Babin's,  just 
below  Dr.  Nolan's,  where  she  remained  the  rest  of 
the  day.  After  she  left,  being  curious  to  discover  the 
reason  of  her  short  stay,  Mr.  Babin  walked  to  the 
place  where  she  had  been,  and  discovered  sixteen 
fresh  graves  on  the  bank.  If  they  buried  them  as 
they  did  at  Baton  Rouge  and  Vicksburg,  four  in  a 
grave,  how  many  would  they  be?  But  granting 
there  were  but  sixteen,  would  that  prove  the  verac- 
ity of  the  Captain?  Poor  man!  Perhaps  he  is 
related  to  Pope,  and  cannot  help  himself. 

237 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

September  27th. 

I  often  wonder  how  lies  first  came  into  the  world, 
and  whether  those  who  originate  them  do  not 
believe  them  as  firmly  as  any  one  else  would  believe 
truth.  Lying  seems  to  be  the  common  creed  of  chil- 
dren and  servants. 

Anna  told  me  of  having  heard  Lennice  telling  the 
other  servants  that  she  knew  there  were  spirits, 
because  I  often  talked  to  them.  Every  morning  and 
evening  I  walked  to  the  graveyard  with  a  basket  of 
flowers,  and  would  sit  by  father's  and  Harry's 
graves  and  call  their  spirits  to  me;  and  they  would 
all  fly  to  me,  and  talk  and  sing  with  me  for  hours 
until  I  would  tell  them  good-bye  and  go  home, 
when  they  would  go  away  too.  I  suppose  the  igno- 
rant girl,  having  foundation  enough  from  my  fre- 
quent visits  there,  which  were  most  often  alone, 
made  up  the  rest  to  account  for  my  never  seeming 
to  like  company  out  there.  The  fervent  "Good 
Lord"  with  which  the  tale  was  received  by  the 
other  servants,  and  the  full  credence  they  gave  it, 
might  have  proved  unpleasant  if  further  circulated ; 
and  I  believe  some  members  of  the  family  found  it 
necessary  to  put  an  end  to  it  at  once. 

And  speaking  of  the  graveyard  recalls  something 
I  heard  for  the  first  time  last  night.  Miriam  was 
telling  me  that  Tiche  had  asked  if  we  knew  that  Mr. 
Sparks  had  visited  Harry's  grave?  That  he  had  got 
a  basket  of  flowers  from  the  Davidsons,  and  had 
made  their  driver  carry  it  for  him.  And  the  man  had 

238 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

told  her  that,  after  filling  the  vases  with  roses,  and 
spreading  them  over  the  grave,  he  had  thrown  him- 
self on  it  with  a  shriek  of  despair,  calling  on  Harry 
to  forgive  him;  that  it  was  only  because  forced  by 
his  father  that  he  had  killed  him ;  and  calling  on  God 
to  prove  that  he  would  give  his  life  gladly  to  recall 
Harry's.  The  man  thought  him  a  raving  maniac  and 
fled  in  terror.  Miriam  asked  Fanny  if  it  was  true, 
and  she  said  yes;  she  had  gathered  the  flowers  for 
him  herself. 

I  saw  them  there,  but  little  knew  whose  hand  had 
brought  them.  I  perceived  at  once  that  they  were 
not  mine,  and  touched  even  to  tears  by  so  silent  an 
offering  from  an  unknown  person,  I  said,  "  It  is  some 
woman's  work;  God  bless  the  hand  that  laid  them 
there."  I  cannot  say  how  much  that  little  tribute 
affected  me.  And,  Mr.  Sparks,  I  do  not  retract  the 
blessing  now.  No!  " God  have  mercy  on  him !"  has 
been  my  prayer  ever  since  I  knew  what  an  awful  loss 
you  had  caused  us.  God  knows  that  I  never  even 
desired  this  revenge  —  remorse  standing  over  his 
grave.  It  has  ever  been,  "  God  pity  and  forgive ! "  — 
never  yet  for  an  instant,  "God  pursue  and  avenge!" 

September  28th. 
We  were  roused  up  at  four  o'clock  last  night  by 
the  arrival  of  Lydia  and  Eugene  Carter,1  the  first 
from  Virginia  and  the  second  from  Tennessee;  and, 

1  Lydia,  daughter  of  General  Carter  and  wife  of  Captain  Thomas 
Gibbes  Morgan;  Eugene,  eldest  son  of  General  Carter,  and  husband 
of  Helen  mentioned  in  the  Diary. 

239 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

of  course,  there  was  very  little  sleep  for  any  of  us,  so 
anxious  were  we  to  hear  the  news  they  brought. 
First  I  learned  that  Gibbes  was  safe  up  to  the  1 7th ; 
that  George,  in  spite  of  the  advice  of  his  surgeon, 
had  rejoined  Stonewall  Jackson  in  Maryland;  and 
Jimmy  was  midshipman  on  the  ironclad  Palmetto 
State  at  Charleston.  How  thankful  I  was  to  hear 
that  much,  I  need  not  say.  Lydia  said  they  all  three 
looked  remarkably  well;  Jimmy  handsomer  than 
ever.  After  that,  news  of  all  kinds  came  indiscrimi- 
nately. The  boys  were  very  anxious  about  us,  but 
had  no  idea  of  our  misfortunes  or  whereabouts. 
They  believed  us  still  in  Baton  Rouge,  and  feared 
we  had  been  there  during  the  battle.'  Lydia  only 
heard  of  our  house  having  been  plundered  when  she 
reached  Alabama,  so  of  course  they  are  still  ignorant 
of  it. !  They  were  all  very  homesick,  but  said  that  we 
were  their  only  trouble. 

A  few  of  the  C s'  stories  had  reached  them 

through  brother  officers ;  and  George  swore  to  make 
himself  understood  by  those  ladies  if  he  ever  saw 
them  again.  A  gentleman  from  Cooper's  Wells  told 
Lydia  that  they  never  tired  of  repeating  their  stories 
to  every  new  arrival;  and  no  man  was  suffered  to 
depart  without  having  heard  a  few.  If  a  gentleman 
friend  of  ours  or  the  boys  inquired  if  they  knew  the 
Miss  Morgans  of  Baton  Rouge,  "Oh, yes! "would  be 
the  answer,  "intimately!  But  you  know  they  have 
turned  Yankee.  Received  Federal  officers  every  day, 
and  placed  all  their  property  under  Yankee  protec- 

240 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tion.    I"  (or  "my  sister,"  as  it  happened  who  was 

retailing  the  lie,  meaning  Mrs.  S )  "slept  in  their 

house  when  it  was  surrounded  by  a  Yankee  guard. 
Oh,  they  are  perfectly  in  favor  of  the  Yankees,"  and 
so  on.  Think  of  a  common,  low  soldier  who  stopped 
for  buttermilk  somewhere  where  Anna  was,  intro- 
ducing the  subject.  "It  is  all  false!"  Anna  inter- 
rupted. The  man  answered,  "Oh,  Miss!  you  don't 
suppose  we  believe  it?  We  would  not  believe  such 
stories  of  any  young  ladies,  much  less  these;  for  if 
they  are  true,  their  conduct  must  have  been  per- 
fectly disgraceful.  But  though  we  know  these 
stories  to  be  lies,  it  does  not  prevent  their  being 
discussed  in  camp."  .  .  . 

Lydia  saw  Mr.  McG ,  too,  at  Lynchburg,  who 

sent  me  his  "regards."  Poor  fellow!  He  says  he  still 
has  "dreams " !  He  told  her  a  few,  but  she  says  they 
were  chiefly  about  meeting  me  at  a  ball,  when  I 
always  treated  him  with  the  most  freezing  coldness. 
The  same  old  nightmare.  How  often  he  has  told 
me  of  that  same  dream,  that  tormented  him  eight- 
een months  ago.  He  says  he  often  thinks  of  me  now 
—  and  he  still  "dreams "  of  me !  " Dreams  are  base- 
less fabrics  whose  timbers  are  mere  moonbeams." 
Apply  your  own  proverb!  .  .  . 

A  clatter  of  hoofs  down  the  road !  And  bent  over 
the  window-sill  which  is  my  desk,  my  fingers  are  not 
presentable  with  the  splattering  of  this  vile  pen  in 
consequence  of  my  position.  Two  hours  yet  before 
sundown,  so  of  course  I  am  not  dressed.  They  come 

241 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

nearer  still.   Now  I  see  them!  Dr.  Addison  and  Mr. 

M !  I  shall  not  hurry  my  toilet  for  them.   It  will 

take  some  time  to  comb  my  hair,  too.  Wish  I  could 
remain  up  here! 

Tuesday,  September  30th. 

It  required  very  little  persuasion  to  induce  those 
gentlemen  to  stay  to  supper,  the  other  evening,  and 
it  was  quite  late  before  they  took  their  leave.  Dr. 
Addison  I  was  very  much  pleased  with,  and  so  were 

all  the  rest.   Mr.  M ,  none  of  us  fell  desperately 

in  love  with.  He  is  too  nonchalant  and  indifferent, 
besides  having  a  most  peculiar  pronunciation  which 
grated  harshly  on  my  ears,  and  that  no  orthography 
could  fully  express.  "Garb,"  for  instance,  was  dis- 
torted into  "gairb,"  "yard"  into  "yaird,"  " Arkan- 
sas,"  and  all  such  words  that  I  can  only  imitate  by  a 
violent  dislocation  of  my  lower  jaw  that  puts  Anna 
into  convulsions  of  laughter  —  only  she  would  laugh 
the  same  if  it  was  not  funny.  This  Kentuckian  pro- 
nunciation grates  "hairshly"  on  my  Southern  ears. 
Miriam  addressed  herself  exclusively  to  the  Doctor, 
so  I  was  obliged  to  confine  my  attention  entirely  to 

neglected  Mr.  M ,  in  which  pious  duty  I  was 

ably  and  charitably  seconded  by  the  General. 
Speaking  of  the  bravery  and  daring  displayed  by  the 
Southern  soldiers  during  this  war,  Mr.  M men- 
tioned the  dangerous  spot  he  had  seen  us  in  the  first 
day  we  went  down  to  the  "Airkansas"  and  said 
that,  lying  directly  across  the  point  from  the  Essex, 
they  expected  every  instant  to  see  one  of  her  shells 

242 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

explode  among  us,  and  were  very  uneasy  about  our 
position,  as  we  did  not  seem  to  know  the  danger.  I 
asked  him  if  he  had  observed  anything  peculiar 
among  the  dozen  planters  and  overseers  standing  a 
short  distance  from  us,  when  the  Captain  sent  us 
word  that  our  position  was  a  very  dangerous  one,  as 
they  expected  the  Essex  to  open  fire  every  instant, 
and  we  had  best  stand  below  the  levee,  higher  up, 
where  we  would  be  safe  from  shells.  "  I  noticed  that 
before  any  of  you  understood  your  position,  every 
man  had  disappeared  as  though  by  magic."  Now 
I  had  noticed  that  myself.  When  I  turned,  under 
shelter  of  the  levee,  our  gallant  planters  were  gallop- 
ing off  in  the  distance.  While  Ginnie  and  I  looked 
and  laughed,  we  suddenly  found  ourselves  the  sole 
objects  on  the  horizon ;  the  other  girls  were  in  the  road 
below,  going  carelessly  toward  the  carriage;  so  we 
followed,  having  lost  sight  of  the  brave  representa- 
tives of  Southern  chivalry,  being  the  last  to  leave 
the  supposed  field  of  danger.  To  my  former  remark, 
let  me  add  that  there  is  only  one  set  who  take  better 
care  for  their  safety  than  married  women ;  and  that 
set  is  composed  exclusively  of  the  "Home  Guard." 
Timid  girls,  either  through  ignorance  or  fun,  com- 
pose the  majority  of  the  brave  "men"  that  the  vol- 
unteer service  has  not  absorbed. 

October  1st,  Wednesday. 
Just  after  sunset  yesterday,  Anna  and  I  were 
walking  down  the  road  towards  the  sugar-house,  she 

243 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

reading  occasionally  from  Abbott's  "Napoleon," 
and  then  pausing  for  me  to  explain  the  very  difficult 
passages  she  could  not  understand,  when  we  sud- 
denly became  aware  of  the  approach  of  a  horse,  and 
raising  our  bowed  heads,  beheld  Colonel  Breaux  and 
another  before  us,  to  our  infinite  surprise  and  aston- 
ishment. The  Colonel  sprang  from  his  horse  and 
advanced  on  foot ;  his  companion  slowly  followed  his 
example,  and  was  introduced  as  Captain  Morrison. 
We  adjourned  our  historical  fit  for  some  future 
period,  and  walked  home  with  the  gentlemen. 
Miriam  did  not  get  back  from  her  excursion  to  the 
cane-patch  until  it  was  quite  late ;  when  after  sitting 
down  a  few  moments,  she  ran  upstairs  to  change  her 
dress.  She  had  just  put  it  on  an  hour  before,  but 
nothing  would  do  but  she  must  dress  up  fine ;  so  she 
put  on  her  handsomest  organdie.  In  vain  I  pointed 
to  my  simple  pink  muslin  with  a  white  body  that  I 
had  worn  all  day,  and  begged  she  would  not  make 
the  contrast  between  us  more  striking  than  ever,  as 
I  felt  I  could  not  change  it  without  exciting  remark. 
She  was  obdurate ;  dressed  herself  in  gorgeous  array, 
and,  as  usual,  I  looked  like  her  lady's  maid. 

Colonel  Breaux  paid  my  hair  the  most  extrava- 
gant compliments.  He  said  he  could  not  say  his 
prayers  for  looking  at  it  in  church,  Sunday  before 
last.  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  St.  Paul  said  a 
woman  should  not  worship  in  church  with  her  head 
uncovered !  But  as  the  Yankees  stole  my  bonnet,  I 
am  reduced  to  wearing  my  black  straw  walking-hat 

244 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

with  its  curled  brim,  trimmed  in  black  ribbon  with 
golden  sheaves  of  wheat.  Two  years  ago  this  fall, 
father  threw  me  a  banknote  at  table,  and  I  pur- 
chased this  with  it.  Now  it  is  my  only  headgear, 
except  a  sunbonnet.  Before  leaving,  which  was  not 
until  quite  late,  this  evening  was  named  for  our 
ride  to  the  fortifications,  to  our  infinite  delight,  as 
we  have  dreamed  and  talked  of  nothing  else  for  a 
week.  .  .  . 

A  dispatch  just  received  from  Gibbes,  from 
Mobile,  on  his  way  home.  I  am  so  happy !  But  what 
can  bring  him?   I  fear 

Lydia  has  gone  to  Clinton  to  meet  him  at  Lilly's. 

October  2d,  Thursday. 

With  what  extraordinary  care  we  prepared  for 
our  ride  yesterday!  One  would  have  thought  that 
some  great  event  was  about  to  take  place.  But  in 
spite  of  our  long  toilet,  we  stood  ready  equipped 
almost  an  hour  before  Colonel  Breaux  arrived.  I 
was  standing  in  a  novel  place  —  upon  the  bannisters 
looking  over  the  fields  to  see  if  he  was  coming  — 
and,  not  seeing  him,  made  some  impatient  exclama- 
tion, when  lo!  he  appeared  before  me,  having  only 
been  concealed  by  the  wood-pile,  and  O  my  pro- 
phetic soul !  Captain  Morrison  was  by  his  side ! 

There  was  quite  a  cavalcade  of  us :  Mr.  Carter  and 
his  wife,  Mrs.  Badger  and  Mrs.  Worley,  in  two 
buggies;  the  three  boys,  who,  of  course,  followed  on 
horseback,  and  the  two  gentlemen,  Miriam,  Anna, 

245 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  I,  riding  also.  It  was  really  a  very  pretty  sight, 
when  Captain  Morrison  and  I,  who  took  the  lead 
going,  would  reach  the  top  of  one  of  the  steep  hills 
and  look  down  on  the  procession  in  the  hollow  below. 
Fortunately  it  was  a  very  cloudy  evening ;  for,  start- 
ing at  four,  it  would  have  been  very  unpleasant  to 
ride  that  distance  with  the  sun  in  our  faces. 

As  we  reached  the  town  we  heard  the  loud  report 
of  two  cannon  which  caused  the  elder  ladies  to  halt 
and  suggest  the  propriety  of  a  return.  But  if  it  was 
a  gunboat,  that  was  the  very  thing  I  was  anxious  to 
see;  so  we  hurried  on  to  the  batteries.  It  proved  to 
be  only  practicing,  however.  At  the  first  one  we 
stopped  at,  the  crew  of  the  Arkansas  were  drilling. 
After  stopping  a  while  there,  we  followed  the  river 
to  see  the  batteries  below.  It  was  delightful  to  ride 
on  the  edge  of  a  high  bluff  with  the  muddy  Missis- 
sippi below,  until  you  fancied  what  would  be  the 
probable  sensation  if  the  horse  should  plunge  down 
into  the  waters;  then  it  ceased  to  be  so  pleasant. 
The  great,  strong  animal  I  rode  could  have  carried 
me  over  without  a  protest  on  my  part ;  for  the  ridicu- 
lous bit  in  his  mouth  was  by  no  means  suited  to  his 
strength ;  and  it  would  require  a  more  powerful  arm 
than  mine  to  supply  the  deficiency.  Miriam  had 
generously  sacrificed  her  own  comfort  to  give  him  to 
me;  and  rode  fiery  Joe  instead  of  her  favorite.  But 
it  was  by  no  means  a  comfort  to  me.  Then  Anna 
was  not  reconciled  to  her  pony  while  I  was  on  such  a 
fine  horse,  until  I  proposed  an  exchange,  and  gladly 

246 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

dismounted  near  an  old  mill  two  miles  and  a  half 
below  Port  Hudson,  as  we  returned  home. 

In  leaving  the  town,  we  lost  sight  of  the  buggies, 
as  there  was  no  carriage  road  that  might  follow  the 
bluff;  and  though  there  was  one  just  back,  we  never 
saw  our  buggies  again.  Once,  following  a  crescent, 
far  below  us  lay  the  water  battery  concealed  by  the 
trees  that  grew  by  the  water's  edge,  looking,  from 
where  we  stood,  like  quite  a  formidable  precipice. 
Then  still  beyond,  after  leaving  the  river,  we  passed 
through  a  camp  where  the  soldiers  divided  their 
attention  equally  between  eating  their  supper  and 
staring  at  us  in  the  most  profound  silence.  Then, 
through  an  old  gate,  down  a  steep  hill,  past  a  long 
line  of  rifle-pits,  a  winding  road,  and  another  camp 
where  more  men  stared  and  cooked  their  supper,  we 
came  to  the  last  battery  but  one,  which  lay  so  far 
below  that  it  was  too  late  to  visit  it.  We  returned 
highly  delighted  with  what  we  had  seen  and  our 
pleasant  ride.  It  was  late  when  we  got  back,  as 
altogether  our  ride  had  been  some  fifteen  miles  in 
length.  As  soon  as  we  could  exchange  our  habits 
for  our  evening  dresses,  we  rejoined  our  guests  at 
the  supper-table,  where  none  of  us  wanted  for  an 
appetite  except  poor  Captain  Morrison,  who  could 
not  be  tempted  by  the  dishes  we  so  much  relished. 
After  supper,  Colonel  Breaux  and  I  got  into  a  dis- 
cussion, rather,  he  talked,  while  I  listened  with  eyes 
and  ears,  with  all  my  soul.  .  .  .  What  would  I  not 
give  for  such  knowledge !  He  knows  everything,  and 

247 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

can  express  it  all  in  the  clearest,  purest  language, 
though  he  says  he  could  not  speak  a  word  of  Eng- 
lish at  fourteen ! 

The  discussion  commenced  by  some  remark  I 
made  about  physiognomy ;  he  took  it  up,  and  passed 
on  to  phrenology  —  in  which  he  is  no  great  believer. 
From  there  he  touched  on  the  mind,  and  I  listened, 
entranced,  to  him.  Presently  he  asserted  that  I 
possessed  reasoning  faculties,  which  I  fear  me  I  very 
rudely  denied.  You  see,  every  moment  the  painful 
conviction  of  my  ignorance  grew  more  painful  still, 
until  it  was  most  humiliating;  and  I  repelled  it  rather 
as  a  mockery.  He  described  for  my  benefit  the  proc- 
ess of  reasoning,  the  art  of  thinking.  I  listened  more 
attentively  still,  resolving  to  profit  by  his  words.  . .  . 
Then  he  turned  the  conversation  on  quite  another 
theme.  Health  was  the  subject.  He  delicately 
alluded  to  my  fragile  appearance,  and  spoke  of  the 
necessity  of  a  strong  constitution  to  sustain  a  vigor- 
ous mind.  If  the  mind  prevailed  over  the  weak  body, 
in  its  turn  it  became  affected  by  decay,  and  would 
eventually  lose  its  powers.  It  was  applicable  to  all 
cases;  he  did  not  mean  that  I  was  sickly,  but  that 
my  appearance  bespoke  one  who  had  not  been  used 
to  the  exercise  that  was  most  necessary  for  me. 
Horseback  rides,  walks,  fresh  air  were  necessary  to 
preserve  health.  No  man  had  greater  disgust  for  a 
freckled  face  than  he;  but  a  fair  face  could  be  pre- 
served by  the  most  ordinary  precautions  and  even 
improved  by  such  exercise.   He  illustrated  my  case 

248 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

by  showing  the  difference  between  the  flower  growing 
in  the  sunshine  and  that  growing  in  a  cellar.  Fa- 
ther's own  illustration  and  very  words,  when  he  so 
often  tried  to  impress  on  me  the  necessity  of  gaining 
a  more  robust  frame  than  nature  had  bestowed! 
And  a  letter  he  had  made  Hal  write  me,  showing 
the  danger  of  such  neglect,  rose  before  me.  I  forgot 
Colonel  Breaux;  I  remembered  only  the  ardent 
desire  of  those  two,  who  seemed  to  speak  to  me 
through  his  lips.  It  produced  its  effect.  I  felt  the 
guilt  I  had  incurred  by  not  making  greater  efforts  to 
gain  a  more  robust  frame ;  and  putting  on  my  sun- 
bonnet  as  I  arose  from  the  breakfast-table  this 
morning,  I  took  my  seat  here  on  the  wide  balcony 
where  I  have  remained  seated  on  the  floor  ever 
since,  with  a  chair  for  a  desk,  trying  to  drink  an 
extra  amount  of  fresh  air. 

I  was  sorry  when  Colonel  Breaux  arose  to  take  his 
leave.  As  he  took  my  hand,  I  said  earnestly, 
"Thank  you  for  giving  me  something  to  think 
about."  He  looked  gratified,  made  some  pleasant 
remark,  and  after  talking  a  while  longer,  said  good- 
night again  and  rode  off.  While  undressing,  Miriam 
and  I  spoke  of  nothing  else.  And  when  I  lay  down, 
and  looked  in  my  own  heart  and  saw  my  shocking 
ignorance  and  pitiful  inferiority  so  painfully  evident 
even  to  my  own  eyes,  I  actually  cried.  Why  was  I 
denied  the  education  that  would  enable  me  to  be  the 
equal  of  such  a  man  as  Colonel  Breaux  and  the 
others?  He  says  the  woman's  mind  is  the  same  as 

249 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

the  man's,  originally;  it  is  only  education  that 
creates  the  difference.  Why  was  I  denied  that  edu- 
cation? Who  is  to  blame?  Have  I  exerted  fully  the 
natural  desire  To  Know  that  is  implanted  in  all 
hearts?  Have  I  done  myself  injustice  in  my  self- 
taught  ignorance,  or  has  injustice  been  done  to  me? 
Where  is  the  fault,  I  cried.  Have  I  labored  to  im- 
prove the  few  opportunities  thrown  in  my  path,  to 
the  best  of  my  ability?  "  Answer  for  yourself .  With 
the  exception  of  ten  short  months  at  school,  where 
you  learned  nothing  except  arithmetic,  you  have 
been  your  own  teacher,  your  own  scholar,  all  your 
life,  after  you  were  taught  by  mother  the  elements 
of  reading  and  writing.  Give  an  account  of  your 
charge.  What  do  you  know?"  Nothing!  except  that 
I  am  a  fool !  and  I  buried  my  face  in  the  sheet ;  I  did 
not  like  even  the  darkness  to  see  me  in  my  humilia- 
tion. 

October  4th,  Saturday. 

While  Anna  and  Miriam  went  out  riding  last 
evening,  just  as  I  put  down  my  pen,  I  went  out  for  a 
solitary  walk  down  the  road  that  Gibbes  would  have 
to  pass;  but  saw  nothing  of  the  carriage.  When  I  got 
back,  they  told  me  he  was  wounded.  My  fears  were 
well  founded,  then.  With  what  anxiety  we  waited 
for  his  coming  it  would  be  impossible  to  describe. 
Every  wagon  rattling  through  the  fields  made  us 
stop  and  listen;  every  canestalk  waving  in  the 
moonlight  brought  us  to  our  feet. 

At  last,  after  supper,  far  off  in  the  clear  light  we 
250 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

saw  the  carriage.  I  could  not  sit  still.  I  walked 
down  the  steps  and  stood  under  the  tree  in  front, 
followed  by  Anna.  I  did  not  like  her  to  stand  nearer 
the  spot  where  it  would  stop  than  I,  even.  All  the 
rest  remained  on  the  balcony.  We  did  not  know 
how  serious  the  wound  might  be;  we  must  be  care- 
ful. Eugene  Carter  advised  caution  for  more  rea- 
sons than  one.  "Look  out!"  he  cried;  "suppose  it 
should  be  Colonel  Breaux?"  "Then  I  am  afraid  the 
Colonel  will  get  a  kiss,"  I  answered  nervously,  shuf- 
fling from  one  foot  to  the  other.   "But  suppose  it  is 

Mr.  M ?"  he  persisted.   "Oh,  thank  you  for  the 

caution!  I  will  look  carefully  before  I  greet  him!"  I 
returned,  moving  to  the  other  side,  for  nearer  around 
the  circle  moved  the  carriage.  I  heard  his  voice. 
"O  Gibbes,  where  is  it?"  "Left  shoulder;  mere 
scratch,"  he  answered.  The  carriage  stopped, 
"Gibbes!  Gibbes!"  I  cried.  "My  darling!"  and  he 
had  his  great  strong  arm  around  me;  the  left  was 
hanging  in  a  sling.  Slowly  the  others  moved  down  the 
steps  towards  him.  What  a  meeting!  My  heart  was 
in  my  throat,  I  was  so  happy.  Every  one  caught  the 
well  hand  and  kissed  him  again  and  again,  and  every 
one  shrunk  from  that  left  side.  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten my  "gear  Lygia"  in  my  excitement.  We  fol- 
lowed him  on  the  balcony  and  put  him  in  a  chair 
near  the  steps.  I  pulled  off  his  hat  and  coat,  and 
knelt  in  front  of  him  with  my  arm  across  his  lap,  to 
get  near  enough.  Miriam  stood  on  the  steps  with  his 
arm  around  her  shoulder,  and  Lydia  near.  The  others 

251 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

stood  around ;  altogether,  it  was  a  happy  group  that 
performed  in  the  tableau  of  "The  Soldier's  Return." 
Presently  the  negroes  gathered  too.  "How  is  you, 
Mass'  Gibbes?"  in  all  imaginable  keys  and  accents 
was  heard,  while  the  Captain  shook  hands  with  each 
and  inquired  into  their  own  state  of  health. 

But  even  wounded  soldiers  can  eat ;  so  supper  was 
again  prepared.  I  am  afraid  it  gave  me  too  much 
pleasure  to  cut  up  his  food.  It  was  very  agreeable  to 
butter  his  cornbread,  carve  his  mutton,  and  spread 
his  preserves;  but  I  doubt  whether  it  could  be  so 
pleasant  to  a  strong  man,  accustomed  to  do  such 
small  services  for  himself.  We  listened  to  him  talk, 
but  though  it  was  evident  from  his  slow,  deliberate 
speech,  so  different  from  his  ordinary  habit,  that  he 
was  suffering,  yet  I  felt  impatient  when  he  was  in- 
terrupted by  any  commonplace  observation  by  one 
of  us.  I  wanted  to  learn  something  of  his  exploits. 
Much  knowledge  I  obtained!  He  was  wounded  at 
Sharpsburg  on  the  17th  September,  at  nine  in  the 
morning.  That  is  all  the  information  I  got  concern- 
ing himself.  One  would  imagine  that  the  seventeen 
months  that  have  elapsed  since  we  last  met  had  been 
passed  in  a  prolonged  picnic.  Concerning  others,  he 
was  quite  communicative.  Father  Hubert  told  him 
he  had  seen  George  in  the  battle,  and  he  had  come 
out  safe.  Gibbes  did  not  even  know  that  he  was  in 
it,  until  then.  Our  army,  having  accomplished  its 
object,  recrossed  the  Potomac,  after  what  was  de- 
cidedly a  drawn  battle.  Both  sides  suffered  severely. 

252 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Hardly  an  officer  on  either  side  escaped  unhurt.  Mr. 
McGimsey  is  wounded,  and]  Major  Herron  reported 
killed.  I  expect  the  list  will  contain  the  names  of 
many  friends  when  it  comes. 

I  have  just  come  from  seeing  Gibbes's  wound 
dressed.  If  that  is  a  scratch,  Heaven  defend  me 
from  wounds!  A  minie  ball  struck  his  left  shoulder 
strap,  which  caused  it  to  glance,  thereby  saving  the 
bone.  Just  above,  in  the  fleshy  part,  it  tore  the  flesh 
off  in  a  strip  three  inches  and  a  half  by  two.  Such  a 
great  raw,  green,  pulpy  wound,  bound  around  by  a 
heavy  red  ridge  of  flesh !  Mrs.  Badger,  who  dressed 
it,  turned  sick;  Miriam  turned  away  groaning;  serv- 
ants exclaimed  with  horror;  it  was  the  first  experi- 
ence of  any,  except  Mrs.  Badger,  in  wounds.  I 
wanted  to  try  my  nerves ;  so  I  held  the  towel  around 
his  body  and  kept  the  flies  off  while  it  was  being 
washed.  He  talked  all  the  time,  ridiculing  the 
groans  of  sympathy  over  a  "scratch,"  and  oh,  how 
I  loved  him  for  his  fortitude!  It  is  so  offensive  that 
the  water  trickling  on  my  dress  has  obliged  me  to 
change  it. 

October  6th. 

Last  night,  I  actually  drew  from  Gibbes  the  out- 
lines of  Jackson's  campaign.  He  told  me  of  some 
heroic  deeds  of  his  fellow  soldiers;  but  of  his  own, 
not  a  word.  I  have  seen  his  name  too  often  in  the 
papers,  to  believe  that  he  has  no  deeds  of  his  own 
to  relate,  if  he  only  would. 

253 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

October  9th,  Thursday. 

It  is  astonishing  what  a  quantity  of  fresh  air  has 
been  consumed  by  me  since  I  formed  that  wise  resolu- 
tion. The  supply  must  be  largely  increased,  to  keep 
up  with  the  demand ;  perhaps  that  is  the  cause  of  all 
these  clouds  and  showers ;  I  must  be  making  a  severe 
drain  on  the  economy  of  heaven.  From  breakfast  to 
dinner  I  remain  on  the  balcony,  and  read  aloud 
several  chapters  of  the  "M6moires"  of  Dumas,  by 
way  of  practice.  A  dictionary  lies  by  me,  and  I  suffer 
no  word  to  pass  without  a  perfect  definition.  Then 
comes  my  French  grammar,  which  I  study  while 
knitting  or  sewing,  which  takes  very  nearly  until 
dinner-time.  After  that,  I  do  as  I  please,  either 
reading  or  talking,  until  sunset  when  we  can  ride  or 
walk;  the  walk  being  always  sweetened  with  sugar- 
cane. The  evening  we  always  spend  on  the  balcony. 
Is  that  grand  air  enough?  0  mon  teintt  je  serai  joli- 
ment  brune  I 

We  three  girls  occupy  the  same  room,  since 
Gibbes's  arrival,  and  have  ever  so  much  fun  and  not 
half  enough  sleep.  I  believe  the  other  two  complain 
of  me  as  the  cause;  but  I  plead  not  guilty.  I  never 
was  known  to  laugh  aloud,  no  matter  how  intense 
might  have  been  my  mirth;  "it  won't  come,"  as 
Gibbes  murmured  last  night  while  reading  aloud 
Artemus  Ward's  last  letter,  when  we  discovered  it 
was  suppressed  laughter,  rather  than  suppressed 
pain,  that  caused  him  to  writhe  so.  On  the  other 
hand,  Anna  and  Miriam  laugh  as  loud  and  lustily  as 

254 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

daughters  of  the  Titans  —  if  the  respectable  gentle- 
men had  daughters.  I  confess  to  doing  more  than 
half  the  talking,  but  as  to  the  laugh  that  follows,  not 
a  bit.  Last  night  I  thought  they  would  go  wild,  and 
I  too  laughed  myself  into  silent  convulsions,  when  I 
recited  an  early  effusion  of  my  poetic  muse  for  their 
edification.  Miriam  made  the  bedstead  prance, 
fairly,  while  Anna's  laugh  sounded  like  a  bull  of 
Bashan  with  his  head  in  a  bolster  case. 

Saturday,  October  nth. 
Miriam  went  off  to  Clinton  before  daylight  yester- 
day, with  Mr.  Carter  and  Mrs.  Worley.  She  would 
not  let  me  go  for  fear  mother  should  keep  us.  At 
midnight  they  got  back  last  night,  tired,  sleepy,  and 
half -frozen,  for  our  first  touch  of  cool  weather  came 
in  a  strong  north  wind  in  the  evening  which  grew 
stronger  and  stronger  through  the  night,  and  they 
had  worn  only  muslin  dresses.  I  shall  never  cease 
to  regret  that  I  did  not  go  too.  Miriam  says  mother 
is  looking  very  sad.  Sad,  and  I  am  trying  to  forget 
all  our  troubles,  and  am  so  happy  here!  O  mother, 
how  selfish  it  was  to  leave  you !  I  ask  myself  whether 
it  were  best  to  stay  there  where  we  would  only  be 
miserable  without  adding  anything  to  your  comfort 
or  pleasure,  or  to  be  here,  careless  and  happy  while 
you  are  in  that  horrid  hole  so  sad  and  lonesome. 
According  to  my  theory,  Miriam  would  remind  me 
that  I  say  it  is  better  to  have  three  miserable  persons 
than  two  happy  ones  whose  happiness  occasions  the 

255 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

misery  of  the  third.  That  is  my  doctrine  only  in 
peculiar  cases;  it  cannot  be  applied  to  this  one. 
I  say  that  if,  for  example,  Miriam  and  I  should  love 
the  same  person,  while  that  person  loved  only  me, 
rather  than  make  her  unhappy  by  seeing  me  marry 
him,  I  would  prefer  making  both  him  and  myself 
miserable,  by  remaining  single.  She  says  "Fudge!" 
which  means,  I  suppose,  nonsense.  But  our  happi- 
ness here  does  not  occasion  mother's  unhappiness. 
She  would  rather  see  us  enjoying  ourselves  here  than 
moping  there.  One  proof  is,  that  she  did  not  suggest 
our  return.  She  longs  to  get  home,  but  cannot  leave 
poor  Lilly  alone,  for  Charlie  is  in  Granada.  Oh,  how 
willingly  I  would  return  to  the  old  wreck  of  our  home ! 
All  its  desolation  could  not  be  half  so  unendurable 
as  Clinton.  But  Lilly  cannot  be  left.  Poor  Lilly! 
When  I  look  at  her  sad  young  face,  my  heart  bleeds 
for  her.  With  five  helpless  little  children  to  care 
for,  is  she  not  to  be  pitied?  I  think  that  such  a 
charge,  in  such  dreadful  days,  would  kill  me.  How 
patiently  she  bears  it! 

Thursday,  October  16th. 

It  seems  an  age  since  I  have  opened  this  book. 
How  the  time  has  passed  since,  I  have  but  a  vague 
idea,  beyond  that  it  has  passed  very  pleasantly.  .  .  . 
Once  since,  I  have  been  with  Mrs.  Badger  to  a  Mr. 
Powell,  who  has  started  quite  an  extensive  shoe- 
making  establishment,  in  the  vain  attempt  to  get 
something  to  cover  my  naked   feet.    I  am  so  much 

256 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

in  need  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  borrow  Lydia's 
shoes  every  time  I  have  been  out  since  she  returned. 
This  was  my  second  visit  there,  and  I  have  no 
greater  satisfaction  than  I  had  at  first.  He  got  my 
measure,  I  got  his  promise,  and  that  is  the  end  of  it, 
thus  far.  His  son,  a  young  man  of  about  twenty-four, 
had  the  cap  of  his  knee  shot  off  at  Baton  Rouge. 
Ever  since  he  has  been  lying  on  his  couch,  unable 
to  stand;  and  the  probability  is  that  he  will  never 
stand  again.  Instead  of  going  out  to  the  manu- 
factory, Mrs.  Badger  has  each  time  stopped  at  the 
house  to  see  his  mother  (who,  by  the  way,  kissed 
me  and  called  me  "Sissie,"  to  my  great  amusement) 
and  there  I  have  seen  this  poor  young  man.  He 
seems  so  patient  and  resigned  that  it  is  really  edi- 
fying to  be  with  him.  He  is  very  communicative, 
too,  and  seems  to  enjoy  company,  no  matter  if  he 
does  say  "her'n"  and  "his'n."  Wonder  why  he 
does  n't  say  " shisen"  too?  The  girls  are  highly 
amused  at  the  description  I  give  of  my  new  acquaint- 
an^?,  but  still  more  so  at  Mrs.  Badger's  account  of 
tbtj.  friendship  of  this  poor  young  cripple,  and  his 
e^  oyment  of  my  visits.  Of  course  it  is  only  her  own 
version,  as  she  is  very  fond  of  jokes  of  all  kinds. 

Night  before  last  Lydia  got  playing  the  piano  for 
me  in  the  darkened  parlor,  and  the  old  tunes  from 
her  dear  little  fingers  sent  me  off  in  a  sea  of  dreams. 
She  too  caught  the  vision,  and  launched  off  in  a 
well-remembered  quadrille.  The  same  scene  flashed 
on  us,  and  at  each  note,  almost,  we  would  recall  a 

257 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

little  circumstance,  charming  to  us,  but  unintelli- 
gible to  Anna,  who  occupied  the  other  side.  To- 
gether we  talked  over  the  dramatis  personce.  Mrs. 
Morgan,  Jr.,  in  dark  blue  silk  with  black  flounces, 
a  crimson  chenille  net  on  her  black  hair,  sits  at  the 
piano  in  her  own  parlor.  On  the  Brussels  carpet 
stands,  among  others,  Her  Majesty,  Queen  Miriam, 
in  a  lilac  silk,  with  bare  neck  and  arms  save  for  the 
protection  afforded  by  a  bertha  of  applique  lace 
trimmed  with  pink  ribbon,  with  hair  d,  la  madonna, 
and  fastened  low  on  her  neck.  Is  she  not  handsome 
as  she  stands  fronting  the  folding  doors,  her  hand 
in  tall  Mr.  Trezevant's,  just  as  she  commences  to 
dance,  with  the  tip  of  her  black  bottine  just  show- 
ing? Vis-a-vis  stands  pretty  Sophie,  with  her  large, 
graceful  mouth  smiling  and  showing  her  pretty 
teeth  to  the  best  advantage.  A  low  neck  and  short- 
sleeved  green  and  white  poplin  is  her  dress,  while 
her  black  hair,  combed  off  from  her  forehead  care- 
lessly, is  caught  by  a  comb  at  the  back  and  falls  in 
curls  on  her  shoulders.  A  prettier  picture  could  )t 
be  wished  for,  as  she  looks  around  with  sparkl  g 
eyes,  eager  for  the  dance  to  begin.  There  stan  * 
calm  Dena  in  snuff-colored  silk,  looking  so  immeas- 
urably the  superior  of  her  partner,  who,  I  fancy, 
rather  feels  that  she  is  the  better  man  of  the  two, 
from  his  nervous  way  of  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  without  saying  a  word  to  her.  Nettie,  in  lilac 
and  white,  stands  by  the  mantel  laughing  undis- 
guisedly  at  her  partner,  rather  than  with  him,  yet 

«58 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

so  good-humoredly  that  he  cannot  take  offense, 
but  rather  laughs  with  her.  Lackadaisical  Gertrude, 
whose  face  is  so  perfect  in  the  daytime,  looks  pale 
and  insipid  by  gaslight,  and  timidly  walks  through 
the  dance.  Stout,  good-natured  Minna  smiles  and 
laughs,  never  quite  completing  a  sentence,  partly 
from  embarrassment,  partly  because  she  hardly 
knows  how ;  but  still  so  sweet  and  amiable  that  one 
cannot  find  fault  with  her  for  so  trifling  a  misfor- 
tune. At  this  point,  Lydia  suggests,  "And  Sarah, 
do  you  forget  her?"  I  laugh;  how  could  I  forget? 
There  she  stands  in  a  light  blue  silk  checked  in  tiny 
squares,  with  little  flounces  up  to  her  knee.  Her 
dress  fits  well,  and  she  wears  very  pretty  sleeves  and 
collar  of  applique.  Lydia  asks  if  that  is  all,  and  how 
she  looks.  The  same  old  song,  I  answer.  She  is 
looking  at  Miriam  just  now;  you  would  hardly  notice 
her,  but  certainly  her  hair  is  well  combed.  That 
is  all  you  can  say  for  her.  Who  is  she  dancing  with? 
A  youth  fond  of  "dreams";  futile  ones,  at  that,  I 
laughingly  reply.  He  must  be  relating  one  just  now, 
for  there  is  a  very  perceptible  curl  on  her  upper  lip, 
and  she  is  looking  at  him  as  though  she  thought 
she  was  the  tallest.  Lydia  dashes  off  into  a  lively 
jig.  "Ladies  to  the  right!"  I  cried.  She  laughed 
too,  well  knowing  that  that  part  of  the  dance  was 
invariably  repeated  a  dozen  times  at  least.  She 
looked  slyly  up:  "I  am  thinking  of  how  many  hands 
I  saw  squeezed,"  she  said.  I  am  afraid  it  did  happen, 
once  or  twice. 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Eighteen  months  ago !  What  a  change !  One  who 
was  prominent  on  such  occasions  —  Mr.  Sparks  — 
they  tell  me  is  dead.  May  God  have  mercy  on  his 
soul,  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ!  I  did  not  ask 
even  this  revenge. 

October  18th,  Saturday. 

Last  night  mother  arrived  from  Clinton  with 
Gibbes  and  Lydia,  who  had  gone  there  the  day 
before  to  get  her  to  go  to  Baton  Rouge. 

Clinton, 
October  19th,  Sunday. 

What  an  unexpected  change!  I  am  surprised 
myself!  Yesterday  as  the  Baton  Rouge  party  were 
about  leaving,  Miriam  thought  Lilly  would  be  lone- 
some alone  here  with  her  sick  baby,  and  decided 
that  we  should  leave  by  the  cars,  and  stay  with  her 
until  mother  returned.  There  was  no  time  to  lose; 
so  dressing  in  haste,  we  persuaded  Anna  to  accom- 
pany us,  and  in  a  few  moments  stood  ready.  We 
walked  down  to  the  overseer's  house  to  wait  for  the 
cars,  and  passed  the  time  most  agreeably  in  eating 
sugar-cane,  having  brought  a  little  negro  expressly 
to  cut  it  for  us  and  carry  our  carpet-bag.  Three 
young  ladies,  who  expected  to  be  gone  from  Satur- 
day until  Wednesday,  having  but  one  carpet-bag 
between  them!  Can  it  be  credited?  But,  then,  we 
knew  we  had  clothes  here,  and  depended  upon  them 
for  supplies,  when  we  now  find  they  are  in  the  trunk 
and  mother  has  the  key. 

260 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

We  walked  aboard  alone,  in  the  crowded  train, 
and  found  ourselves  in  the  only  car  reserved  for 
ladies,  which  was  already  filled  with  a  large  party 
returning  from  Port  Hudson,  consisting  of  the  fast- 
est set  of  girls  that  I  have  seen  for  some  time.  Anna 
and  I  had  to  content  ourselves  with  a  seat  on  a  small 
box  between  the  benches,  while  Miriam  was  estab- 
lished on  the  only  vacant  one,  with  a  sick  soldier 
lying  at  her  feet.  The  fast  girls  talked  as  loud  as 
possible  and  laughed  in  a  corresponding  style  in 
spite  of  the  sick  man.  They  must  have  been  on  a 
picnic,  from  the  way  they  talked.  One  in  a  short 
dress  complained  that  she  had  not  seen  her  sweet- 
heart. A  pert  little  miss  of  thirteen  cried,  "You  can 
bet  your  head  I  never  went  to  any  place  where  I  did 
not  see  one  of  my  sweethearts."  One  of  about 
seventeen,  a  perfect  beauty,  declared  she  would 
die  of  thirst.  "So  will  I!  and  I  don't  want  to  die 
before  I  get  a  husband!"  exclaimed  her  vis-a-vis. 
They  evidently  expected  to  produce  an  impression 
on  us.  At  every  "brilliant"  remark  ("stupid" 
understood),  they  looked  at  us  to  see  what  we 
thought.  All  of  them  sat  with  bare  heads  in  the 
strong  light,  an  unfailing  proof  of  la  basse  classe  on 
steamers  and  cars.  Every  time  my  veil  blew  aside, 
they  made  no  difficulty  about  scanning  my  features 
as  though  they  thought  it  might  be  agreeable.  I 
must  confess  I  was  equally  impolite  in  regard  to 
the  Beauty;  but  then  her  loveliness  was  an  excuse, 
and  my  veil  sheltered  me,  besides.  While  this  young 

261 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Psyche  was  fascinating  me,  with  her  perfect  face  and 
innocent  expression,  one  of  her  companions  made  a 
remark  —  one  that  I  dare  say  is  made  every  day, 
and  that  I  never  imagined  could  be  turned  into 
harm.  My  Beauty  uttered  a  prolonged  "Oh!"  of 
horror,  and  burst  out  laughing,  followed  by  all  the 
others.  My  disgust  was  unspeakable.  Mock  mod- 
esty is  always  evident.  A  modest  girl  could  not  have 
noticed  the  "catch";  the  immodest,  on  the  lookout 
for  such  an  opportunity,  was  the  only  one  who  could 
have  perceived  it.  Well!  after  all,  no  one  can  be 
perfect ;  this  may  be  the  single  stain  on  my  Beauty, 
though  I  confess  I  would  rather  have  any  other  fail- 
ing than  this,  almost. 

Putting  this  aside,  I  hardly  know  which  I  was 
most  amused  by :  the  giddy,  lively  girls  to  my  right, 
or  the  two  ladies  to  my  left  who  were  as  cross  and 
ill-natured  as  two  old  cats  and  railed  unmercifully 
at  the  silly  creatures  behind  them,  and  carried  their 
spite  so  far  as  to  refuse  to  drink  because  the  conduc- 
tor (the  husband  of  one  of  them)  gave  the  young 
ladies  water  before  passing  it  to  their  two  elders. 
Did  n't  the  poor  man  get  it!  She  would  n't  taste 
a  drop  of  that  nasty  dirty  drippings,  that  she 
would  n't!  Might  have  had  the  decency  to  attend 
to  his  kinsfolks,  before  them  creatures!  And  why 
did  n't  he  wait  on  those  two  young  ladies  behind 
her?  He  did  ask  them?  Well,  ask  them  again! 
they  must  want  some!  Poor  Henpecked  meekly 
passed  the  can  again,  to  be  again  civilly  declined. 

262 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

I  confess  the  "drippings"  were  too  much  for  me 
also,  though  I  did  not  give  it  as  my  excuse.  Mrs. 
Hen  recommenced  her  pecking;  poor  Mr.  Hen  at 
last  surlily  rejoined,  "For  Heaven's  sake,  don't 
make  a  fuss  in  the  cars,"  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
last  word  that  showed  he  was  accustomed  to  it  at 
home,  at  least.  With  my  veil  down,  I  leaned  against 
the  window,  and  remembering  Colonel  Breaux's 
remarks  two  nights  before  concerning  cross  people, 
I  played  his  "little  philosopher"  for  the  remainder 
of  the  journey. 

At  sunset  we  walked  in  at  Lilly's  gate,  and  aston- 
ished her  by  standing  before  her  as  she  sat  alone 
with  her  poor  sick  little  Beatrice  in  her  arms.  .  .  . 

Wednesday,  2 2d  October,  Linwood. 

We  left  Clinton  this  morning,  and  have  just  now 
arrived  by  the  cars.  Charlie  came  in  last  evening, 
to  our  great  surprise,  so  we  did  not  scruple  to  leave 
Lilly.  ... 

The  Baton  Rouge  party  returned  late  this  eve- 
ning. In  spite  of  all  preparation,  Gibbes  was  horrified 
at  the  appearance  of  home. 

Friday,  October  24th. 

A  letter  from  Jimmy,  the  first  we  have  received 
since  New  Orleans  fell.  It  was  dated  the  10th  inst., 
and  he  spoke  of  being  on  the  eve  of  running  the 
blockade,  and  going  to  Liverpool  "to  represent  our 
unfortunate  navy,"  as  he  says,  though  I  am  at  loss 

263 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  imagine  what  he  can  mean.  He  speaks  of  a  kind 
friend,  a  Mr.  George  Trenholm,1  whose  kindness  has 
been  perfectly  extraordinary.  He  has  befriended 
him  in  every  way. 

Charlie  has  just  come  by  the  railroad,  bringing 
other  letters  from  him,  to  mother  and  Lilly.  In 
mother's  is  his  last  good-bye  on  the  12th.  Again 
Mr.  Trenholm  is  the  theme.  I  could  not  help  crying 
over  my  dear  little  brother's  manly,  affectionate 
letter.  He  says  he  is  sure  God  will  still  care  for  him, 
He  has  raised  him  up  friends  wherever  he  has  been. 
He  says  he  lost  all  his  clothing  in  going  to  Charles- 
ton. There,  among  other  kind  people,  he  met  this 
gentleman,  who  carried  him  to  his  house,  where  he 
has  kept  him  ever  since,  treating  him  like  his  son, 
and  forced  him  to  accept  a  magnificent  outfit  as  a 
present  from  him.  He  procured  the  appointment 
which  sends  Jimmy  abroad  (I  wish  Jimmy  had  been 
more  explicit  concerning  it ;  we  hardly  know  what  it 
is,  or  how  long  it  will  keep  him).  The  money  he 
received  to  pay  Jimmy's  passage  (received  from  the 
Government)  he  in  turn  obliged  Jimmy  to  accept, 
as  he  sails  in  one  of  Mr.  Trenholm's  steamers;  and 
not  satisfied  with  that,  gives  him  carte  blanche  on  his 
house  in  England,  to  be  filled  up  with  any  amount 
he  chooses  to  name. 

Mother  went  back  to  Clinton  with  Charlie  that 

1  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  of  the  Confederate  States.  Later, 
Colonel  James  Morris  Morgan  ("  Jimmy  "  in  the  Diary),  married 
Mr.  Trenholm's  daughter  Helen,  whose  portrait  appears  on  an  issue 
of  Confederate  bank  notes. 

264 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

evening,  to  my  great  distress;  for  she  hates  that 

odious  place  as  much  as  I. 

I  know  the  life  will  kill  her  if  it  lasts  six  months 

longer.  How  happy  I  would  be,  if  it  were  not  for  the 

thought  of  her  uncomfortable  position  there!   Lilly 

agrees  with  me  that,  once  out  of  it,  she  never  wishes 

to  see  the  vile  place  again.   Margret  says  that  when 

the  Lord  had  finished  all  the  world  and  all  the  people, 

he  had  some  scraps  left,  and  just  thought  he'd 

"batch  up"  Clinton  with  them.     Perhaps  she  is 

right. 

Sunday,  26th  October. 

This  place  is  completely  overrun  by  soldiers  pass- 
ing and  repassing.  Friday  night  five  stayed  here, 
last  night  two  more,  and  another  has  just  gone.  One, 
last  night,  a  bashful  Tennesseean,  had  never  tasted 
sugar-cane.  We  were  sitting  around  a  blazing  fire, 
enjoying  it  hugely,  when  in  answer  to  our  repeated 
invitations  to  help  himself,  he  confessed  he  had  never 
eaten  it.  Once  instructed,  though,  he  got  on  remark- 
ably well,  and  ate  it  in  a  civilized  manner,  consider- 
ing it  was  a  first  attempt. 

Everything  points  to  a  speedy  attack  on  Port 
Hudson.  Rumors  reach  us  from  New  Orleans  of 
extensive  preparations  by  land  and  water,  and  of 
the  determination  to  burn  Clinton  as  soon  as  they 
reach  it,  in  revenge  for  the  looms  that  were  carried 
from  Baton  Rouge  there,  and  which  can  soon  be  put 
in  working  order  to  supply  our  soldiers,  negroes,  and 
ourselves  with  necessary  clothing.    Of  two  evils,  if 

265 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Baton  Rouge  is  to  be  overrun  by  Yankees,  and 
Clinton  burned,  I  would  rather  await  them  at 
home. 

Sunday,  November  2d. 

Yesterday  was  a  day  of  novel  sensations  to  me. 
First  came  a  letter  from  mother  announcing  her 
determination  to  return  home,  and  telling  us  to  be 
ready  next  week.  Poor  mother!  she  wrote  drearily 
enough  of  the  hardships  we  would  be  obliged  to 
undergo  in  the  dismantled  house,  and  of  the  new 
experience  that  lay  before  us;  but  rfimporte!  I  am 
ready  to  follow  her  to  Yankeeland,  or  any  other 
place  she  chooses  to  go.  It  is  selfish  for  me  to  be 
so  happy  here  while  she  leads  such  a  distasteful  life 
in  Clinton.  In  her  postscript,  though,  she  said  she 
would  wait  a  few  days  longer  to  see  about  the  grand 
battle  which  is  supposed  to  be  impending;  so  our 
stay  will  be  indefinitely  prolonged.  How  thankful 
I  am  that  we  will  really  get  back,  though !  I  hardly 
believe  it  possible,  however;  it  is  too  good  to  be 
believed. 

The  nightmare  of  a  probable  stay  in  Clinton  being 
removed,  I  got  in  what  the  boys  call  a  "perfect 
gale,"  and  sang  all  my  old  songs  with  a  greater  relish 
than  I  have  experienced  for  many  a  long  month. 
My  heart  was  open  to  every  one.  So  forgiving  and 
amiable  did  I  feel  that  I  went  downstairs  to  see  Will 
Carter!  I  made  him  so  angry  last  Tuesday  that  he 
went  home  in  a  fit  of  sullen  rage.  It  seems  that  some 
time  ago,  some  one,  he  said,  told  him  such  a  joke 

266 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

on  me  that  he  had  laughed  all  night  at  it.  Mortified 
beyond  all  expression  at  the  thought  of  having  had 
my  name  mentioned  between  two  men,  I,  who  have 
thus  far  fancied  myself  secure  from  all  remarks 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent  (of  men),  I  refused  to  have 
anything  to  say  to  him  until  he  should  either  explain 
me  the  joke,  or,  in  case  it  was  not  fit  to  be  repeated 
to  me,  until  he  apologized  for  the  insult.  He  took 
two  minutes  to  make  up  a  lie.  This  was  the  joke, 
he  said.  Our  milkman  had  said  that  that  Sarah 
Morgan  was  the  proudest  girl  he  ever  saw;  that  she 
walked  the  streets  as  though  the  earth  was  not  good 
enough  for  her.  My  milkman  making  his  remarks! 
I  confess  I  was  perfectly  aghast  with  surprise,  and 
did  not  conceal  my  contempt  for  the  remark,  or  his 
authority  either.  But  one  can't  fight  one's  milkman ! 
I  did  not  care  for  what  he  or  any  of  that  class  could 
say ;  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  they  thought  at  all ! 
But  I  resented  it  as  an  insult  as  coming  from  Mr. 
Carter,  until  with  tears  in  his  eyes  fairly,  and  in  all 
humility,  he  swore  that,  if  it  had  been  anything  that 
could  reflect  on  me  in  the  slightest  degree,  he  would 
thrash  the  next  man  who  mentioned  my  name. 
I  was  not  uneasy  about  a  milkman's  remarks,  so  I 
let  it  pass,  after  making  him  acknowledge  that  he 
had  told  me  a  falsehood  concerning  the  remark 
which  had  been  made.  But  I  kept  my  revenge. 
I  had  but  to  cry  " Milk!"  in  his  hearing  to  make  him 
turn  crimson  with  rage.  At  last  he  told  me  that 
the  less  I  said  on  the  subject,  the  better  it  would  be 

267 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

for  me.  I  could  not  agree.  "Milk"  I  insisted  was 
a  delightful  beverage.  I  had  always  been  under  the 
impression  that  we  owned  a  cow,  until  he  had 
informed  me  it  was  a  milkman,  but  was  perfectly 
indifferent  to  the  animal  so  I  got  the  milk.  With 
some  such  allusion,  I  could  make  him  mad  in  an 
instant.  Either  a  guilty  conscience,  or  the  real  joke, 
grated  harshly  on  him,  and  I  possessed  the  power  of 
making  it  still  worse.  Tuesday  I  pressed  it  too  far. 
He  was  furious,  and  all  the  family  warned  me  that 
I  was  making  a  dangerous  enemy. 

Yesterday  he  came  back  in  a  good  humor,  and 
found  me  in  unimpaired  spirits.  I  had  not  talked 
even  of  "curds,"  though  I  had  given  him  several 
hard  cuts  on  other  subjects,  when  an  accident  hap- 
pened which  frightened  all  malicious  fun  out  of  me. 
We  were  about  going  out  after  cane,  and  Miriam 
had  already  pulled  on  one  of  her  buckskin  gloves, 
dubbed  "old  sweety"  from  the  quantity  of  cane- 
juice  they  contain,  when  Mr.  Carter  slipped  on  its 
mate,  and  held  it  tauntingly  out  to  her.  She  tapped 
it  with  a  case-knife  she  held,  when  a  stream  of  blood 
shot  up  through  the  glove.  A  vein  was  cut  and  was 
bleeding  profusely. 

He  laughed,  but  panic  seized  the  women.  Some 
brought  a  basin,  some  stood  around.  I  ran  after 
cobwebs,  while  Helen  Carter  held  the  vein  and 
Miriam  stood  in  silent  horror,  too  frightened  to 
move.  It  was,  indeed,  alarming,  for  no  one  seemed 
to  know  what  to  do,  and  the  blood  flowed  rapidly. 

268 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Presently  he  turned  a  dreadful  color,  and  stopped 
laughing.  I  brought  a  chair,  while  the  others  thrust 
him  into  it.  His  face  grew  more  deathlike,  his  mouth 
trembled,  his  eyes  rolled,  his  head  dropped.  I  com- 
prehended that  these  must  be  symptoms  of  fainting, 
a  phenomenon  I  had  never  beheld.  I  rushed  after 
water,  and  Lydia  after  cologne.  Between  us,  it 
passed  away ;  but  for  those  few  moments  I  thought 
it  was  all  over  with  him,  and  trembled  for  Miriam. 
Presently  he  laughed  again  and  said,  "Helen,  if  I 
die,  take  all  my  negroes  and  money  and  prosecute 
those  two  girls!  Don't  let  them  escape!"  Then, 
seeing  my  long  face,  he  commenced  teasing  me. 
"Don't  ever  pretend  you  don't  care  for  me  again! 
Here  you  have  been  unmerciful  to  me  for  months, 
hurting  more  than  this  cut,  never  sparing  me  once, 
and  the  moment  I  get  scratched,  it 's  '  O  Mr.  Carter ! ' 
and  you  fly  around  like  wild  and  wait  on  me!"  In 
vain  I  represented  that  I  would  have  done  the  same 
for  his  old  lame  dog,  and  that  I  did  not  like  him  a 
bit  better;  he  would  not  believe  it,  but  persisted  that 
I  was  a  humbug  and  that  I  liked  him  in  spite  of  my 
protestations.  As  long  as  he  was  in  danger  of  bleed- 
ing to  death,  I  let  him  have  his  way ;  and,  frightened 
out  of  teasing,  spared  him  for  the  rest  of  the  eve- 
ning. 

Just  at  what  would  have  been  twilight  but  for  the 
moonshine,  when  he  went  home  after  the  blood  was 
stanched  and  the  hand  tightly  bound,  a  carriage 
drove  up   to  the  house,  and    Colonel  Allen  was 

269 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

announced.  I  can't  say  I  was  ever  more  disap- 
pointed. I  had  fancied  him  tall,  handsome,  and 
elegant;  I  had  heard  of  him  as  a  perfect  fascinator, 
a  woman-killer.  Lo!  a  wee  little  man  is  carried  in, 
in  the  arms  of  two  others,  —  wounded  in  both  legs 
at  Baton  Rouge,  he  has  never  yet  been  able  to  stand. 
.  .  .  He  was  accompanied  by  a  Mr.  Bradford,  whose 
assiduous  attentions  and  boundless  admiration  for 
the  Colonel  struck  me  as  unusual.  ...  I  had  not 
observed  him  otherwise,  until  the  General  whis- 
pered, "Do  you  know  that  that  is  the  brother  of 
your  old  sweetheart?"  Though  the  appellation  was 
by  no  means  merited,  I  recognized  the  one  he  meant. 
Brother  to  our  Mr.  Bradford  of  eighteen  months 
ago!  My  astonishment  was  unbounded,  and  I 
alluded  to  it  immediately.  He  said  it  was  so;  that 
his  brother  had  often  spoken  to  him  of  us,  and  the 
pleasant  evenings  he  had  spent  at  home. 

November  4th,  1862. 
O  what  a  glorious  time  we  had  yesterday!  First, 
there  were  those  two  gentlemen  to  be  entertained 
all  day,  which  was  rather  a  stretch,  I  confess,  so  I 
stole  away  for  a  while.  Then  I  got  the  sweetest  let- 
ter from  Miss  Trenholm,  enclosing  Jimmy's  photo- 
graph, and  she  praised  him  so  that  I  was  in  a  damp 
state  of  happiness  and  flew  around  showing  my  pic- 
ture to  everybody,  Mr.  Bradford  included,  who 
pronounced  him  a  noble  boy,  and  admired  him  to 
my  satisfaction.    Then  came  a  letter  from  Lilly, 

270 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

saying  mother  had  decided  to  remain  in  Clinton,  and 
wanted  us  to  join  her  there.  O  my  prophetic  soul! 
My  heart  went  below  zero!  Then  Colonel  Allen 
sent  to  Port  Hudson  for  the  band  to  serenade  us, 
and  raised  my  spirits  in  anticipation  of  the  treat. 
While  performing  my  toilet  in  the  evening,  Waller 
Fowler  arrived,  on  his  way  to  Vicksburg,  bringing 
a  letter  to  Miriam  from  Major  Drum!  Heaven  only 
knows  how  it  got  here!  Such  a  dear,  kind  letter, 
dated  6th  of  August,  only !  Affairs  were  very  differ- 
ent then,  and  he  said  that  Lavinia's  distress  about 
us  was  such  that  he  must  try  to  send  her  nearer 
to  us.  [And  such  an  unexpected  piece  of  news! 
Oh,  my  heart  fails  me!  I  cannot  fancy  Lavinia  a 
mother. 

Slowly  I  dressed  myself,  and  still  more  slowly  I 
combed  Anna.  I  could  think  of  nothing  else  until 
I  heard  Miriam  and  Mr.  Bradford  call  us  to  take  a 
walk,  when  we  hurried  down  to  them.  A  race  down 
to  the  railroad,  a  merry  talk  standing  on  the  track 
mingled  with  shouts  of  laughter  in  which  I  tried 
to  drown  fears  for  Lavinia,  made  the  early  sunset 
clouds  pass  away  sooner  than  usual,  to  us,  and 
moonlight  warned  us  to  return.  Mrs.  Worley  passed 
us  in  her  buggy,  coming  to  stay  all  night;  and  half- 
way a  servant  met  us,  saying  two  soldiers  had  come 
to  call  on  us.  Once  there,  I  was  surprised  to  find 
that  one  was  Frank  Enders,  the  one  I  least  expected 
to  see.  The  other  was  a  Mr.  Harold.  I  need  not 
describe  him,  beyond  this  slight  indication  of  his 

271 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

style.  Before  half  an  hour  was  over,  he  remarked 
to  Anna  that  I  was  a  very  handsome  girl,  and 
addressed  me  as  —  Miss  Sally!  That  is  sufficient. 

Then  Will  Carter  came  in,  and  joined  our  circle. 
His  first  aside  was,  "If  you  only  knew  how  much 
I  liked  you  last  night,  you  would  never  be  cruel  to 
me  again.  Why,  I  thought  you  the  greatest  girl 
in  the  world!  Please  let's  part  friends  to-night 
again!"  I  would  not  promise,  for  I  knew  I  would 
tease  him  yet ;  and  at  supper,  when  I  insisted  on  his 
taking  a  glass  of  milk,  his  face  turned  so  red  that 
Mrs.  Carter  pinched  my  arm  blue,  and  refused  to 
help  me  to  preserves  because  I  was  making  Will 
mad  !  But  Waller  helped  me,  and  I  drank  my  own 
milk  to  Mr.  Carter's  health  with  my  sweetest  smile. 
"Confound  that  milkman!  I  wish  he  had  cut  his 
throat  before  I  stumbled  over  him,"  he  exclaimed 
after  tea.  But  I  had  more  amusing  game  than  to 
make  him  angry  then ;  I  wanted  to  laugh  to  get  rid 
of  the  phantom  that  pursued  me,  Lavinia. 

The  evening  passed  off  very  pleasantly;  I  think 
there  were  some  eighteen  of  us  in  the  parlor.  About 
ten  the  general  went  to  the  sugar-house  (he  com- 
menced grinding  yesterday)  and  whispered  to  me  to 
bring  the  young  people  down  presently.  Mr.  Brad- 
ford and  I  succeeded  in  moving  them,  and  we  three 
girls  retired  to  change  our  pretty  dresses  for  plain 
ones,  and  get  shawls  and  nuages,  for  our  warm  week 
had  suddenly  passed  away,  and  it  was  quite  cold 
out.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  remarked  that  very  few 

272 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

young  ladies  would  have  the  courage  to  change 
pretty  evening  dresses  for  calico,  after  appearing 
to  such  advantage.  Many  would  prefer  wearing 
such  dresses,  however  inappropriate,  to  the  sugar- 
mill.  With  his  droll  gravity,  Gibbes  answered,  "Oh, 
our  girls  don't  want  to  be  stuck  up!" 

There  was  quite  a  string  of  us  as  we  straggled  out 
in  the  beautiful  moonlight,  with  only  Mrs.  Badger 
as  an  escort.  Mr.  Enders  and  I  had  a  gay  walk  of  it, 
and  when  we  all  met  at  the  furnace,  we  stopped  and 
warmed  ourselves,  and  had  a  laugh  before  going  in. 
Inside,  it  was  lighted  up  with  Confederate  gas,  in 
other  words,  pine  torches,  which  shed  a  delightful 
light,  neither  too  much  nor  too  little,  over  the  differ- 
ent rooms.  We  tried  each  by  turns.  The  row  of 
bubbling  kettles  with  the  dusky  negroes  bending 
over  in  the  steam,  and  lightly  turning  their  paddles 
in  the  foamy  syrup,  the  whole  under  the  influence 
of  torchlight,  was  very  interesting;  but  then,  Mr. 
Enders  and  I  found  a  place  more  pleasant  still. 
It  was  in  the  first  purgery,  standing  at  the  mouth  of 
the  shoot  through  which  the  liquid  sugar  runs  into 
the  car ;  and  taking  the  place  of  the  car  as  soon  as  it 
was  run  off  to  the  coolers,  each  armed  with  a  paddle, 
scraped  the  colon  up  and  had  our  own  fun  while 
eating.  Then  running  along  the  little  railroad  to 
where  the  others  stood  in  the  second  room  over  the 
vats,  and  racing  back  again  all  together  to  eat  sugar- 
cane and  cut  up  generally  around  our  first  pine 
torch,  we  had  really  a  gay  time. 

273 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Presently  "Puss  wants  a  corner"  was  suggested, 
and  all  flew  up  to  the  second  staging,  under  the  cane- 
carrier  and  by  the  engine.  Such  racing  for  corners ! 
Such  scuffles  among  the  gentlemen !  Such  confusion 
among  the  girls  when,  springing  forward  for  a  place, 
we  would  find  it  already  occupied!  All  dignity  was 
discarded.  We  laughed  and  ran  as  loud  and  fast 
as  any  children,  and  the  General  enjoyed  our  fun 
as  much  as  we,  and  encouraged  us  in  our  pranks. 
Waller  surpassed  himself,  Mr.  Bradford  carried  all 
by  storm,  Mr.  Enders  looked  like  a  schoolboy  on  a 
frolic,  Mr.  Carter  looked  sullen  and  tried  lazily  not 
to  mar  the  sport  completely,  while  Mr.  Harold 
looked  timidly  foolish  and  half  afraid  of  our  wild 
sport.  Mrs.  Badger  laughed,  the  General  roared, 
Anna  flew  around  like  a  balloon,  Miriam  fairly 
danced  around  with  fun  and  frolic,  while  I  laughed 
so  that  it  was  an  exertion  to  change  corners.  Then 
forfeits  followed,  with  the  usual  absurd  formalities  in 
which  Mr.  Bradford  sentenced  himself  unconsciously 
to  ride  a  barrel,  Miriam  to  make  him  a  love  speech 
going  home,  Mr.  Enders  to  kiss  my  hand,  and  I  to 
make  him  (Mr.  Enders)  a  declaration,  which  I 
instantly  did,  in  French,  whereby  I  suffered  no 
inconvenience,  as  Miriam  alone  comprehended. 
Then  came  more  sugar-cane  and  talk  in  the  purgery, 
and  we  were  horrified  when  Mrs.  Badger  announced 
that  it  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  gave  orders  to  re- 
tire. 

O  the  pleasant  walk  home!  Then,  of  course,  fol- 
274 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

lowed  a  last  good-night  on  the  balcony,  while  the 
two  young  men  mounted  their  horses  and  Frank 
Enders  vowed  to  slip  off  every  time  he  had  a  chance 
and  come  out  to  see  us.  Then  there  was  a  grand 
proposition  for  a  ride  to  Port  Hudson  on  horseback, 
and  in  order  to  secure  a  pledge  that  we  would  pass 
by  General  Beale's  headquarters,  Mr.  Enders 
wrapped  my  nuage  around  his  throat,  declaring  that 
I  would  be  obliged  to  stop  there  for  it,  though,  if 
prevented,  he  would  certainly  be  obliged  to  bring 
it  back  himself.  This  morning,  however,  the  mar- 
ried ladies  made  so  much  difficulty  about  who  should 
go,  and  how,  that  we  were  forced  to  abandon  it, 
much  as  we  would  have  enjoyed  it. 

I  am  afraid  to  say  how  late  it  was  when  we  got 
to  bed.  I  know  it  was  almost  ten  when  we  left  the 
breakfast-table  this  morning,  so  I  suppose  it  must 
have  been  quite  late  before  we  retired.  To  Colonel 
Allen's,  as  well  as  to  our  own  great  disappointment, 
the  band  could  not  come  on  account  of  sickness. 

November  6th. 
We  three  girls  fancied  a  walk  last  evening,  and 
immediately  after  dinner  prepared  to  walk  to  Mrs. 
Breaux's,  only  a  mile,  and  get  her  to  come  to  the 
sugar-house.  But  as  we  put  on  our  bonnets,  Captain 
Bradford,  brother  of  the  one  who  left  in  the  morning, 
was  announced,  and  our  expedition  had  to  be  aban- 
doned. This  is  the  third  of  the  five  brothers  that 
I  have  met,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  peculiarity  in 

275 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

their  voices,  I  should  say  that  there  was  not  the 
most  distant  relationship  existing  between  them. 
This  one  is  very  handsome,  quiet,  and  what  Dickens 
calls  "in  a  high-shouldered  state  of  deportment." 
He  looks  like  a  moss-covered  stone  wall,  a  slumber- 
ing volcano,  a  —  what  you  please,  so  it  suggests 
anything  unexpected  and  dangerous  to  stumble 
over.  A  man  of  indomitable  will  and  intense  feeling, 
I  am  sure.  I  should  not  like  to  rouse  his  temper, 
or  give  him  cause  to  hate  me.  A  trip  to  the  sugar- 
house  followed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  we  showed 
him  around,  and  told  him  of  the  fun  we  had  those 
two  nights,  and  taught  him  how  to  use  a  paddle  like 
a  Christian.  We  remained  there  until  supper-time, 
when  we  adjourned  to  the  house,  where  we  spent 
the  remainder  of  the  evening  very  pleasantly.  At 
least  I  suppose  he  found  it  so,  for  it  was  ten  o'clock 
before  he  left. 

Just  now  I  was  startled  by  a  pistol  shot.  Threat- 
ening to  shoot  her,  Mr.  Carter  playfully  aimed 
Miriam's  pistol  at  her,  and  before  he  could  take  fair 
aim,  one  barrel  went  off,  the  shot  grazing  her  arm 
and  passing  through  the  armoir  just  behind.  Of 
course,  there  was  great  consternation.  Those  two 
seem  doomed  to  kill  each  other.  She  had  played 
him  the  same  trick  before.  He  swore  that  he  would 
have  killed  himself  with  the  other  shot  if  she  had 
been  hurt;  but  what  good  would  that  do  her? 


276 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Sunday,  November  9th. 

I  hardly  know  how  these  last  days  have  passed. 
I  have  an  indistinct  recollection  of  rides  in  cane- 
wagons  to  the  most  distant  field,  coming  back 
perched  on  the  top  of  the  cane  singing,  "Dye  my 
petticoats,"  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  General 
who  followed  on  horseback.  Anna  and  Miriam, 
comfortably  reposing  in  corners,  were  too  busy  to 
join  in,  as  their  whole  time  and  attention  were  en- 
tirely devoted  to  the  consumption  of  cane.  It  was 
only  by  singing  rough  impromptus  on  Mr.  Harold 
and  Captain  Bradford  that  I  roused  them  from  their 
task  long  enough  to  join  in  a  chorus  of  "Forty 
Thousand  Chinese."  I  would  not  have  changed  my 
perch,  four  mules,  and  black  driver,  for  Queen  Vic- 
toria's coach  and  six. 

And  to  think  old  Abe  wants  to  deprive  us  of  all 
that  fun !  No  more  cotton,  sugar-cane,  or  rice !  No 
more  old  black  aunties  or  uncles !  No  more  rides 
in  mule  teams,  no  more  songs  in  the  cane-field,  no 
more  steaming  kettles,  no  more  black  faces  and 
shining  teeth  around  the  furnace  fires!  If  Lincoln 
could  spend  the  grinding  season  on  a  plantation,  he 
would  recall  his  proclamation.  As  it  is,  he  has  only 
proved  himself  a  fool,  without  injuring  us.  Why, 
last  evening  I  took  old  Wilson's  place  at  the  bagasse 
shoot,  and  kept  the  rollers  free  from  cane  until  I  had 
thrown  down  enough  to  fill  several  carts,  and  had 
my  hands  as  black  as  his.  What  cruelty  to  slaves! 
And  black  Frank  thinks  me  cruel,  too,  when  he  meets 

277 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

me  with  a  patronizing  grin,  and  shows  me  the  nicest 
vats  of  candy,  and  peels  cane  for  me.  Oh!  very 
cruel !  And  so  does  Jules,  when  he  wipes  the  handle 
of  his  paddle  on  his  apron,  to  give  "Mamselle" 
a  chance  to  skim  the  kettles  and  learn  how  to  work ! 
Yes!  and  so  do  all  the  rest  who  meet  us  with  a 
courtesy  and  "  Howd'y,  young  Missus ! "  Last  night 
we  girls  sat  on  the  wood  just  in  front  of  the  furnace 
—  rather  Miriam  and  Anna  did,  while  I  sat  in  their 
laps  —  and  with  some  twenty  of  all  ages  crowded 
around,  we  sang  away  to  their  great  amusement. 
Poor  oppressed  devils!  Why  did  you  not  chunk  us 
with  the  burning  logs  instead  of  looking  happy,  and 
laughing  like  fools?  Really,  some  good  old  Aboli- 
tionist is  needed  here,  to  tell  them  how  miserable 
they  are.  Can't  Mass'  Abe  spare  a  few  to  enlighten 
his  brethren? 

November  ioth,  Monday. 

In  spite  of  its  being  Sunday,  no  sooner  was  dinner 
concluded  yesterday  than  we  adjourned,  as  usual, 
to  the  sugar-house  to  see  how  much  damage  we  could 
do.  Each  took  from  a  negro  his  long  paddle,  and  for 
more  than  half  an  hour  skimmed  the  kettles  indus- 
triously, to  the  amazement  of  half  a  dozen  strange 
soldiers  who  came  to  see  the  extraordinary  process 
of  sugar-making.  At  one  time  the  two  boys  taking 
possession  of  the  two  other  paddles,  not  a  negro  was 
at  the  kettles,  but  stood  inspecting  our  work.  The 
hardest  part  we  found  to  be  discharging  the  batteries, 
which  none  of  us  could  do  without  their  assistance. 

278 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

We  had  no  sooner  relinquished  our  paddles  than 
some  one  announced  two  gentlemen  at  the  house. 
While  we  were  discussing  the  possibility  of  changing 
our  dresses  before  being  seen,  enter  Mr.  Enders  and 
Gibbes  Morgan1  of  Fenner's  battery.  No  retreat 
being  possible,  we  looked  charmed  and  self-possessed 
in  spite  of  plain  calicoes  and  sticky  hands.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Enders  very  conveniently  forgot  to  bring  my 
nuage.  He  says  he  started  expressly  to  do  so,  but 
reflecting  that  I  might  then  have  no  inducement  to 
pay  that  visit  to  Port  Hudson,  he  left  it  for  another 
time.  .  .  .  We  arranged  a  visit  to  Gibbes,  and  Mr. 
Enders  made  me  promise  to  call  at  General  Beale's 
headquarters  for  a  pass.  "They  will  want  you  to 
go  to  the  Provost  Marshal's  for  it,  but  you  just 
come  to  General  Beale's,  and  send  a  courier  for 
me,  and  I  will  bring  it  myself!"  —  and  half  in  fun, 
half  in  earnest,  I  promised. 

November  12th,  Wednesday. 

Once  more  a  cripple  and  consigned  to  my  bed,  for 
how  long,  Heaven  only  knows.  This  is  written  while 
in  a  horizontal  position,  reposing  on  my  right  arm, 
which  is  almost  numb  from  having  supported  me  for 
some  sixteen  hours  without  turning  over.  Let  me 
see  if  I  can  remember  how  it  happened. 

Last  evening  we  started  out  to  see  Gibbes,  just 
Miriam  and  Anna  in  one  buggy,  and  Mrs.  Badger 
and  I  in  the  other.   Gibbes  proper,  that  is,  the  Cap- 

1  H.  Gibbes  Morgan,  a  cousin. 
279 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tain,  and  the  General  both  approved,  but  neither 
could  accompany  us.  It  is  useless  to  say  how  much 
I  objected  to  going  without  a  gentleman.  Indeed, 
when  we  reached  the  road  which  formed  the  fourth 
side  of  the  square  formed  by  Colonel  Breaux's, 
Captain  Bradford's,  and  Captain  Fenner's  camps, 
I  thought  I  should  die  of  terror  on  finding  myself 
in  such  a  crowd  of  soldiers  on  parade.  My  thick 
veil  alone  consoled  me,  but  I  made  a  vow  that  I 
would  not  go  through  it  again,  not  if  I  never  saw 
Gibbes,  Jr.,  again  on  earth. 

His  camp  lay  far  off  from  the  road,  so  that  we  had 
to  drive  out  to  it  between  the  other  two,  and  asked  a 
soldier  to  tell  him  that  we  were  there.  Presently  he 
came  up,  looking  so  pleased  that  I  was  almost  glad 
that  we  had  come;  and  then  Captain  Fenner  ap- 
peared, looking  charmed,  and  Lieutenant  Harris, 
who  looked  more  alarmed  and  timid  than  I.  Cap- 
tain Fenner  exerted  himself  to  entertain  us,  and 
seeing  how  frightened  I  was,  assured  me  that  it  was 
an  everyday  occurrence  for  young  ladies  to  visit 
them  in  parties  without  gentlemen,  and  that  it  was 
done  all  through  the  Confederacy;  which,  however, 
did  not  comfort  me  for  the  hundreds  of  eyes  that 
were  looking  at  us  as  our  small  party  stood  out  in 
front  of  the  encampment  around  a  cannon.  I  think 
he  can  throw  more  expression  into  his  eyes  than  any 
one  I  ever  saw.  Miriam  suggested  sending  Gibbes 
to  the  Provost  to  get  our  pass  in  order  to  avoid  the 
crowd  that  might  be  there.   Eager  to  leave  the  pres- 

280 


'  A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ent  one  for  a  more  retired  spot,  I  exclaimed,  "Oh, 
no!  let  us  go  ourselves!  We  can't  get  in  a  worse 
crowd!"  I  meant  a  greater;  but  Captain  Fenner 
looked  so  comically  at  me  that  I  could  scarcely 
laugh  out  an  apology,  while  he  laughed  so  that  I  am 
sure  he  did  not  listen  to  me.  What  a  comical 
mouth !  I  liked  him  very  much,  this  time.  He  prom- 
ised to  come  out  to-day  or  to-morrow,  and  have  a 
game  of  "Puss  wants  a  corner"  in  the  sugar-house. 
But  now  I  can't  join  in,  though  it  was  to  me  the 
promise  was  made. 

But  to  the  catastrophe  at  once. 

As  we  left,  we  insisted  on  taking  Gibbes  to  get 
our  pass,  and  made  him  get  into  Miriam's  buggy, 
where  there  was  space  for  him  to  kneel  and  drive. 
I  was  to  carry  out  my  promise  to  Mr.  Enders.  We 
had  to  pass  just  by  the  camp  of  the  First  Alabama, 
Colonel  Steadman's,  where  the  whole  regiment  was 
on  parade.  We  had  not  gone  thirty  yards  beyond 
them  when  a  gun  was  discharged.  The  horse 
instantly  ran  off.  I  don't  believe  there  could  be  two 
cooler  individuals  than  Mrs.  Badger  and  I  were. 
I  had  every  confidence  in  her  being  able  to  hold  him 
so  long  as  the  bridle  lasted.  I  hap!  heard  that  there 
was  more  danger  in  jumping  at  such  moments  than 
in  remaining  quiet,  so  I  sat  still.  There  was  nothing 
to  hold  to,  as  it  was  a  no- top,  or  what  I  call  a  "  low- 
neck,"  buggy;  so  my  hands  rested  quietly  in  my  lap. 
Presently  I  saw  the  left  rein  snap  close  to  the  horse's 
mouth.   I  knew  all  was  over  then,  but  did  not  utter 

281 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

a  word.  Death  seemed  inevitable,  and  I  thought  it 
was  as  well  to  take  it  coolly.  The  horse  turned 
abruptly;  I  felt  that  something  impelled  me  out, 
followed  the  impulse,  saw  Mrs.  Badger's  white  cape 
fluttering  above  me,  received  a  blow  on  the  extrem- 
ity of  my  spine  that  I  thought  would  kill  me  before 
I  reached  the  ground,  landing,  however,  on  my  left 
hip,  and  quietly  reclining  on  my  left  elbow,  with  my 
face  to  an  upset  buggy  whose  wheels  spun  around 
in  empty  air.  I  heard  a  rush  as  of  horses ;  I  saw  men 
galloping  up;  I  would  have  given  worlds  to  spring 
to  my  feet,  or  even  to  see  if  they  were  exposed ;  but 
found  I  could  not  move.  I  had  no  more  power  over 
my  limbs  than  if  they  were  iron;  only  the  intense 
pain  told  me  I  was  still  alive.  I  was  perfectly  con- 
scious, but  unable  to  move.  My  only  wonder  was 
why  Miriam,  who  was  in  front,  did  not  come  to  me. 
My  arm  was  giving  away.  Dimly,  as  through  a 
haze,  or  dream,  I  saw  a  soldier  bending  over  me, 
trying  to  raise  me.  The  horse  he  had  sprung  from 
rushed  up  to  his  master,  and  reared  up  over  me. 
I  saw  the  iron  hoofs  shining  above  my  body;  death 
was  certain  this  time,  but  I  could  not  move.  He 
raised  his  arm  and  struck  him,  and  obedient  to  the 
blow  the  animal  turned  aside  and  let  his  feet  fall 
without  crushing  me.  Mrs.  Carter,  when  she  heard 
it  described,  offered  a  fabulous  sum  for  a  correct 
drawing  of  that  most  interesting  tableau,  the  gal- 
lant Alabamian  supporting  a  helpless  form  on  one 
arm,  while  he  reined  in  a  fiery  charger  with  the 

282 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

other.    I  was  not  aware  of  the  romance ;  I  was  con- 
scious only  of  the  unpleasant  situation. 

Dozens  crowded  around,  and  if  I  had  been  a  girl 
for  display,  here  was  an  opportunity,  for  thirty  pair 
of  soldier  arms  were  stretched  out  to  hold  me.  "  No ! 
Gibbes!  Gibbes!"  I  whispered,  and  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  being  transferred  from  a  stranger's  to  my 
cousin's  arms.  Gibbes  trembled  more  than  I,  but 
with  both  arms  clasped  around  me,  held  me  up. 
But  for  that  I  would  have  returned  to  my  original 
horizontal  position.  "Send  for  the  doctor!"  cried 
one.  "A  surgeon,  quick!"  cried  another.  "Tell 
them  no!"  I  motioned.  I  was  conscious  of  a  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  cloud  of  dust.  One  performed  a  feat 
never  heard  of  before.  He  brought  a  glass  of  water 
at  full  gallop  which  I  instantly  drained  by  way  of 
acknowledgment.  I  think  I  felt  the  unpleasant 
situation  more  than  the  pain.  Not  being  accustomed 
to  being  the  centre  of  attraction,  I  was  by  no  means 
pleased  with  the  novel  experience.  Miriam  held  my 
hand,  and  questioned  me  with  a  voice  tremulous 
with  fear  and  laughter.  Anna  convulsively  sobbed 
or  giggled  some  question.  I  felt  the  ridiculous  posi- 
tion as  much  as  they.  Laughing  was  agony,  but  I 
had  to  do  it  to  give  them  an  excuse,  which  they  read- 
ily seized  to  give  vent  to  their  feelings,  and  encour- 
aged by  seeing  it,  several  gold-band  officers  joined 
in,  constantly  endeavoring  to  apologize  or  check 
themselves  with  a  "Really,  Miss,  it  may  seem 
unfeeling,  but  it  is  impossible"  —  the  rest  was  lost 

283 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

in  a  gasp,  and  a  wrestle  between  politeness  and  the 
desire  to  laugh. 

I  don't  know  what  I  was  thinking  of,  but  I  cer- 
tainly paid  very  little  attention  to  what  was  going 
on.  I  only  wanted  to  get  home,  away  from  all  those 
eyes;  and  my  most  earnest  wish  made  me  forget 
them.  The  first  remark  I  heard  was  my  young 
Alabamian  crying,  "It  is  the  most  beautiful  somer- 
set I  ever  saw!  Indeed,  it  could  not  be  more  grace- 
fully done!  Your  feet  did  not  show!"  Naif,  but 
it  was  just  what  I  wanted  to  know,  and  dared  not 
ask.  Some  one  ran  up,  and  asked  who  was  hurt, 
and  I  heard  another  reply,  "I  am  afraid  the  young 
lady  is  seriously  injured,  only  she  won't  acknowledge 
it.  It  is  worth  while  looking  at  her.  She  is  the  cool- 
est, most  dignified  girl  you  ever  saw";  and  another 
was  added  to  the  already  too  numerous  audience. 
Poor  Mrs.  Badger,  having  suffered  only  from  torn 
clothing,  received  very  little  sympathy,  while  I  got 
more  than  my  share.  I  really  believe  that  the  blow 
I  received  was  from  her  two  hundred  and  forty 
pound  body,  though  the  Alabamian  declares  he  saw 
the  overturning  buggy  strike  me  as  I  fell. 

To  her  and  others  I  am  indebted  for  the  repeti- 
tion of  many  a  remark  that  escaped  me.  One  bold 
soldier  boy  exclaimed,  "Madame,  we  are  all  warri- 
ors, but  we  can't  equal  that!  It  is  braver  than  any 
man!"  I  had  to  laugh  occasionally  to  keep  my 
spirits  up,  but  Miriam  ordered  me  to  quit,  saying 
that  I  would  go  off  in  hysterics.    I  had  previously 

284 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

repeatedly  declared  to  the  Doctor  that  I  was  not 
hurt,  and  seeing  him  idle,  and  hearing  Miriam's 
remark,  the  Alabamian  —  I  am  told  —  cried,  "0 
Doctor!  Doctor!  can't  you  do  something?  Is  she 
going  to  have  hysterics?"  "Really,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor, "the  young  lady  objects  to  being  examined; 
but  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  she  has  no  limbs  broken." 
Everybody  ordered  me  to  confess  at  once  my  in- 
jury; but  how  was  I  to  inform  a  whole  crowd  that 
I  had  probably  broken  the  tip  of  my  backbone,  and 
could  not  possibly  sit  down?  So  I  adhered  to  my 
first  affirmation,  and  made  no  objection  when  they 
piled  the  cushions  up  and  made  Gibbes  put  me  down ; 
for  I  knew  he  must  be  tired. 

I  am  told  I  remained  there  an  hour.  I  know  they 
talked  to  me,  and  that  I  answered;  but  have  not 
an  idea  of  the  subject.  A  gentleman  brought  a 
buggy,  and  offered  to  drive  me  home;  but  a  Captain 
Lenair  insisted  on  running  after  the  ambulance. 
Arrived  there,  Mr.  Enders  says  he  rushed  in,  crying, 
"For  God's  sake,  General  Beale,  lend  me  the  ambu- 
lance !  There  is  a  dreadful  accident,  and  I  am  afraid 
the  young  lady  will  die ! ' '  Coming  back  he  exclaimed , 
"By  Jove!  boys,  if  you  want  to  see  a  sight,  run 
down  and  see  her  hair!  The  prettiest  auburn  (?) 
you  ever  looked  at,  and  sweeps  the  ground!  I 
would  n't  mind  such  a  fall  if  I  had  such  hair  to  show. 
Come  look  at  it,  do ! "  Mr.  Enders  says  he  was  sure 
that  it  was  I,  as  soon  as  hair  was  mentioned,  and 
started  out  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  a  duty  he  had 

285 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  perform.  My  garter,  a  purple  silk  ribbon,  lay 
in  the  centre  of  the  ring.  By  the  respectful  silence 
observed,  I  saw  they  recognized  its  use,  so,  unwill- 
ing to  leave  such  a  relic  behind,  I  asked  aloud  for 
my  "ribbon,"  whereupon  Anna  says  the  officers 
pinched  each  other  and  smiled.  Up  came  the  am- 
bulance, and  I  was  in  imminent  danger  of  being 
carried  to  it,  when  with  a  desperate  effort  I  regained 
my  feet  with  Gibbes's  help,  and  reached  it  without 
other  assistance.    Beyond,  I  could  do  no  more. 

Captain  Lenair  got  inside,  and  several  others 
lifted  me  up  to  him,  and  I  sank  motionless  on  the 
floor.  All  bade  me  good-bye,  and  my  little  Alaba- 
mian  assured  me  that  he  was  proud  of  having  been 
the  first  to  assist  me.  President  Miller  whispered 
to  Mrs.  Badger  for  permission  to  accompany  us, 
which  she  readily  granted,  and  raising  me  on  the 
seat,  he  insisted  on  putting  his  arm  around  me  to 
hold  me  up.  It  was  useless  to  decline.  "Now,  Miss 
Morgan,  I  assure  you  I  am  an  old  married  man! 
I  know  you  are  suffering!  Let  me  have  my  way!" 
and  the  kind  old  gentleman  held  me  so  comfortably, 
and  broke  the  force  of  so  many  jolts,  that  I  was 
forced  to  submit  and  acknowledge  that  had  it  not 
been  for  him  I  could  not  have  endured  the  rough 
road.  At  the  gate  that  leads  to  General  Beale's 
headquarters,  I  saw  half  a  dozen  figures  standing. 
One  was  Frank  Enders,  who  hailed  the  driver. 
"Hush!"  said  one  I  recognized  as  Captain  Lenair. 
"The  young  lady  is  in  there,  and  the  Provost,  too! " 

286 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  is  Jeff  Davis,  I  '11  find  out  if  she  is 
hurt!"  he  answered.  Miriam  and  Anna  recognized 
him,  as  they  followed  behind  us,  and  called  to  him. 
Without  more  ado,  he  jumped  into  their  buggy,  find- 
ing them  alone,  and  drove  them  home.  He  asked 
me  something  as  he  passed,  but  I  could  not  answer. 

The  road  was  dreadful.  Once  the  driver  mistook 
it  and  drove  us  within  two  steps  of  an  embankment 
six  feet  high,  but  discovered  the  mistake  before  the 
horses  went  over. 

What  I  most  dreaded  was  explanations  when  we 
should  arrive.  Miriam  stepped  out  an  instant 
before,  and  I  heard  her  telling  the  accident.  Then 
everybody,  big  and  little,  white  and  black,  gathered 
around  the  ambulance.  The  Provost  thought  him- 
self privileged  to  carry  me,  Gibbes  insisted  on  try- 
ing it  with  his  one  arm,  when  the  General  picked  me 
up  and  landed  me  on  the  gallery.  He  wanted  me 
to  lie  down  in  old  Mrs.  Carter's  room,  but  confident 
that  once  there  I  could  not  get  up,  and  feeling  that 
perhaps  the  gentlemen  would  take  advantage  of  its 
being  on  the  ground  floor  to  suggest  calling  on  me, 
I  struggled  upstairs  with  Helen's  assistance.  A 
dozen  hands  undressed  me,  and  laid  me  on  my  face 
in  bed,  which  position  I  have  occupied  up  to  the 
present,  3  p.m.  .  .  .  Unable  to  turn,  all  night  I  lay 
awake,  lying  on  my  face,  the  least  comfortable  of 
positions;  but  though  the  slightest  motion  tortured 
me,  I  had  to  laugh  as  we  talked  it  over. 

Of  course,  this  has  been  written  in  scratches,  and 
287 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

in  my  same  position,  which  will  account  for  many 
blots.  This  morning  I  was  interrupted  by  mother's 
unexpected  arrival,  she  having  come  with  Dellie 
and  Morgan  to  spend  the  day.  Of  course,  she  is 
horrified  at  the  accident  of  that  "unfortunate 
Sarah"! 

Saturday,  November  15th. 

I  think  I  grow  no  better  rapidly.  Fortunately  on 
Wednesday  night  they  succeeded  in  turning  me 
over;  for  my  poor  elbows,  having  lost  all  their  skin, 
were  completely  used  up.  Now,  if  I  go  slowly  and 
carefully,  I  can  turn  myself  at  the  cost  of  some  little 
suffering.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  Colonel  Steadman,  of  the  First  Ala- 
bama, called  with  his  father.  He  sent  me  many 
messages  of  condolence,  and  the  rather  unpleasant 
advice  to  be  cupped  and  scarified.  His  profession 
was  that  of  a  physician  before  he  became  colonel. 
His  surgeon,  whose  name  is  Madding,  told  him  he 
was  satisfied  that  I  was  seriously  injured,  though 
I  had  not  complained.  The  Colonel  is  the  same 
who  called  when  we  were  in  Clinton.  They  readily 
accepted  our  invitation  to  dinner,  and  remained 
until  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  Captain  Bradford 
came  in.  More  messages  of  condolence  and  sym- 
pathy upstairs,  which  produced  no  visible  effect  on 
my  spine,  though  very  comforting  to  the  spirit. 

November  16th. 

I  was  interrupted  yesterday  morning  by  Mrs. 

288 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Badger,  who  wished  to  apply  a  few  dry  cups  to  my 
back,  to  which  I  quietly  submitted,  and  was  unable 
to  move  afterwards  without  pain,  as  a  reward  for 
my  patience.  But  towards  sunset  came  two  dear  let- 
ters that  made  me  forget  what  I  had  suffered,  one 
from  George,  and  one  from  Jimmy,  dated  Bermudas. 
For  the  first  time  I  know  what  my  dear  little  brother 
suffered  during  those  long  months  when  we  could 
not  hear  if  he  were  dead  or  alive.  He  kept  the  secret 
until  he  no  longer  needed  either  friends  or  money; 
and  now  he  tells  it  with  a  simplicity  that  made  me 
cry  fit  to  break  my  heart  when  I  was  left  alone  in  the 
twilight  with  no  one  to  see.  .  .  .  George  comforts  me 
with  hopes  of  Peace,  and  a  speedy  return.  If  it 
could  only  be!  .  .  . 

This  morning  the  boom  of  Yankee  guns  reached 
my  ears ;  a  sound  I  had  hoped  never  to  hear  again. 
It  is  only  those  poor  devils  (I  can  afford  to  pity 
them  in  their  fallen  state)  banging  away  at  some 
treasonable  sugar-houses  that  are  disobedient 
enough  to  grind  cane  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  I  hear  that  one  is  at  Mrs.  Cain's.  The 
sound  made  my  heart  throb.  What  if  the  fight 
should  come  off  before  I  can  walk?  It  takes  three 
people  to  raise  me  whenever  it  is  necessary  for  me 
to  move;  I  am  worse  than  helpless. 

Tuesday,  November  18th. 
A  note  just  came  from  mother,  telling  me  that  the 
most  awful  Yankees  were  coming  to  burn  Linwood 

289 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  take  Port  Hudson,  and  so  this  evening  I  must 
walk  down  to  the  cars  with  a  chair  to  rest  in  until 
they  came,  and  must  certainly  be  in  Clinton  to-night. 
Delightful  arrangement !  I  wrote  to  ask  if  she  knew 
that  my  legs  were  of  no  more  service  to  me  than  to 
her?  Dr.  Dortch  has  again  been  murdering  me  .  .  . 
says  perhaps  I  can  stand  by  Sunday.  If  the  Yankees 
come  before  — 

Friday  night,  November  2 1st. 
Lying  on  my  face,  as  it  were,  with  my  poor  elbows 
for  a  support,  I  try  to  pass  away  these  lonely  hours. 
For  with  the  exception  of  old  Mrs.  Carter,  who  is 
downstairs,  and  the  General,  who  is  elsewhere,  Anna 
and  I  are  the  only  white  people  on  the  place.  The 
cause  of  this  heartless  desertion  is  a  grand  display 
of  tableaux  vivants  at  Jackson,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Soldiers'  Hospital,  and  of  course  it  would  be  sinful 
to  stay  away,  particularly  as  Anna  is  a  great  deal 
better,  and  I  need  no  care.  .  .  . 

Thursday,  December  4th.1 

It  would  be  only  the  absurd  tableaux  I  agreed  to, 

with  plenty  of  fun,  and  nothing  more.   So  I  tried  to 

be  merry  and  content,  and  so  I  should  have  been, 

for  there  was  plenty  to  talk  about,  and  every  one 

1  A  page  is  here  torn  from  the  Diary.  It  evidently  related  the  be- 
ginning of  an  incident  of  which  my  sister  and  I  have  often  heard  our 
mother  tell:  how,  after  the  Jackson  tableaux,  our  aunt  Miriam  laugh- 
ingly staked  herself  in  a  game  of  cards  with  Will  Carter  —  and  lost. 
The  sequel  follows,  the  scene  at  the  house  of  his  uncle,  General  Carter, 
beginning  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence.  —  W.  D. 

290 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

was  so  solicitous  for  my  comfort ;  and  there  was  Mr. 
Enders  who  would  wheel  my  chair  for  me  wherever 
I  wished  it,  and  was  as  kind  and  attentive  as  a 
brother.  Surely  my  first  trip  should  have  been  a  gay 
one!  Miriam  sat  down  by  the  piano,  Mr.  Enders 
drew  me  by  her,  and  we  three  sang  until  dark 
together.  A  Mr.  Morse,  his  wife,  and  mother,  who 
are  spending  a  week  here,  were  our  audience.  The 
first  two  retired  at  candle-light,  while  the  latter, 
present  at  the  play  the  night  before,  remained  to  the 
last.  But  while  we  sang,  every  noise  at  the  parlor 
door  caused  us  to  turn  with  the  apprehension  of 
we  hardly  knew  what.  A  dozen  times  Mr.  Enders 
consulted  his  watch,  and  telegraphed  his  fears  to  me, 
though  I  persisted  in  thinking  it  only  the  fun  that 
had  been  intended. 

Half-past  six  came,  and  with  it,  Mrs.  Worley. 
Now,  she  knew  better.  For  Dr.  Dortch  had  come  to 
see  me,  and  was  guiding  me  in  my  game  of  euchre 
in  which  I  was  not  even  as  wise  as  my  partner,  Mr. 
Enders,  when  her  note  came.  Instantly  we  put 
down  our  cards,  while  Miriam  begged  him  to  write 
and  tell  her  the  true  story.  He  wrote  and  we  all 
read  it.  Not  only  that,  but  Miriam  added  a  post- 
script which  I  think  was  this,  word  for  word:  "Mrs. 
Worley,  it  is  only  a  bet  at  cards,  intended  as  the 
merest  joke.  There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it,  and 
I  will  consider  it  the  greatest  favor  if  you  will 
contradict  the  report  whenever  you  may  hear  it!" 
Explicit  enough,  one  would  think;  but  still  she  came, 

291 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  sent  word  into  the  parlor  that  one  of  the  ladies 
present  when  Will  made  the  announcement  had  sent 
her  contribution  to  the  evening's  fun.  It  turned 
out  to  be  a  complete  bridal  suit,  worn  by  the  lady 
a  year  ago!  That  was  too  serious  a  jest.  Miriam 
went  into  the  other  room  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Worley, 
who,  cold  as  an  icicle,  refused  to  receive  or  make 
explanation,  beyond  "I  won't  kiss  you;  this  is  too 
cruel."  There  was  nothing  to  do;  she  returned 
laughing,  but  certainly  feeling  herself  the  injured 
one,  and  so  she  was. 
[4.  In  fifteen  minutes,  another  stir. ,  I  held  my  breath 

with  expectation.    Lydia  introduced  —  Mr.  G . 

Ten  miles  he  had  ridden  through  mud  and  water 
that  freezing  evening,  at  Will  Carter's  request,  to 
perform  the  ceremony  between  him  and  Miriam. 
Lydia  laughed  until  she  could  hardly  introduce  him. 
He,  hat  in  hand,  bowed  around  the  convulsed  circle 
with  a  countenance  shining  with  the  most  sublimely 
vacant  expression.  O  that  man's  idiotic  face,  and 
solemn,  portentous  look,  brought  a  writhe  even  to 
my  trembling  lips!  Mr.  Enders  would  have  given 
one  an  excellent  idea  of  the  effect  produced  by 
a  real  old  piney-woods  chill ;  he  shook  as  with 
suppressed  laughter.  But  when  the  tremendous 
preacher  (tremendous  because  composed  of  gigantic 
Nothing)  turned  his  lugubrious  face  towards  Mrs. 
Morse,  and  addressed  her  as  Mrs.  Morgan  under 
the  impression  that  she  had  come  down  to  see  her 
daughter  married,  Miriam's  risibles  could  no  longer 

292 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

stand  it,  and  she  flew  from  the  room  in  time  to  avoid 
a  disgraceful  explosion. 

I  was  growing  frightened.  Mr.  Enders  was  lean- 
ing over  my  chair,  and  involuntarily  it  burst  from 
me  with  a  groan,  "For  God's  sake,  help  me  save 
her!"  "Hush!  Lie  back  in  your  chair!  I  will!" 
he  whispered.  "  But  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  save  my 
sister ! "  "  I'll  do  what  you  will,  if  you  will  only  keep 
still  and  not  hurt  yourself.  I  '11  do  my  best."  It  was 
all  whispered,  that  the  minister  and  Mrs.  Morse 
might  not  hear.  "  If  it  were  your  sister,  what  would 
you  do?"  "My  God!  I'd  meet  him  on  the  front 
gallery  and  kick  him  out !  Then  I  'd  know  one  of  us 
must  die  to-morrow!"  "But  under  the  circum- 
stances it  is  impossible  for  Gibbes  to  act!"  I  urged, 
while  we  agreed  that  it  was  the  most  unwarrantable 
piece  of  insolence  ever  perpetrated.  While  we  talked, 
Gibbes  had  seized  Miriam  and,  without  interfering 
or  advising  further,  advised  her  to  keep  her  room 
and  not  meet  Will. 

But  I  skipped  the  most  important  part.  She  came 
back  when  she  had  recovered  her  composure,  and 
sat  by  me.  Mr.  Enders,  when  I  asked  what  was  best 
to  do,  whispered  that  to  spare  Will's  feelings,  and 
avoid  a  most  painful  scene,  as  well  as  to  show  that 
she  had  no  serious  intentions  whatever,  she  should 
see  that  the  minister  was  put  in  full  possession  of 
the  facts  before  it  went  any  farther.  He  felt  keenly 
his  unpleasant  situation,  and  it  was  only  our  earnest 
request  that  induced  him  to  remain,  or  give  his  ad- 

293 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

vice.  Who  should  explain?  Certainly  not  the  Gene- 
ral.   He  thought  the  joke  carried  too  far,  and  retired 

to  his  room  before  Mr.  G came.    How  take 

part  against  his  own  nephew?  Not  Gibbes  either, 
for  he  had  gone  upstairs  too  worried  and  annoyed 
to  talk  to  any  one;  besides,  it  was  his  wife's  cousin. 
Who  then?  Miriam  is  one  woman  in  a  thousand. 
Rising,  she  crossed  the  room  slowly  and  as  dignified 
as  though  she  only  meant  to  warm  herself.  I  think 
I  see  her  before  me  now,  as  she  stood  before  the  fire, 

facing  Mr.  G ,  looking  so  handsome  and  stylish 

in  her  black  grenadine  with  the  pale-green  trimming, 
telling  her  story.  Plainly,  earnestly,  distinctly,  with- 
out hurry  or  embarrassment,  in  the  neatest,  pretti- 
est, most  admirable  speech  I  ever  heard,  she  told 
everything  just  as  it  was.  Bravo  for  Miriam !  There 
lives  not  the  woman  in  this  State  who  could  do  so 
painful  a  thing  in  such  a  beautiful  way.  I  felt  like 
hugging  her.  Oh,  it  was  magnificent!  He  heard  her 
in  surprise,  but  when  once  satisfied  of  its  truth,  he 
said,  "Well,  Miss  Morgan,  when  you  stand  on  the 
floor,  when  I  ask  if  you  will,  it  is  your  privilege  to 
answer,  'No.'"  Miriam  is  not  one  to  do  so  cruel 
a  thing;  she  is  too  noble  to  deceive  him  so  far  and 
wound  him  so  cruelly  before  all,  when  he  believed 
himself  so  near  happiness.  She  said  that  it  was 
mockery,  she  would  not  suffer  him  to  believe  for  an 
instant  that  she  meant  to  marry  him ;  if  he  believed 
it,  he  was  deceiving  himself  wilfully,  for  he  already 
knew  that  she  had  told  him  it  could  never  be.    He 

294 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

agreed  to  take  it  only  as  a  jest,  promised  that  he 
would  not  feel  hurt;  and  with  the  most  admirable 
tact,  Miriam,  the  trump  (I  have  been  playing  euchre, 
excuse  me),  settled  the  minister,  and  the  wedding, 
by  her  splendid  behavior,  with  no  trouble. 

A  rapid  step  was  heard  in  the  hall;  the  bride- 
groom had  come!  I  know  he  must  have  killed  his 
horse.  He  certainly  did  not  leave  his  house  before 
one  o'clock;  it  is  twenty  miles  by  the  road  to  Clin- 
ton; he  went  there,  procured  his  license,  and  was 
here  at  seven,  in  full  costume.  He  bounded  up- 
stairs to  meet  the  bride-elect. 

I  can  fancy  him  going  to  Clinton,  doubting,  fear- 
ing, believing  against  all  evidence,  yet  trembling; 
securing  the  license. at  last,  persuading  himself  that 
she  would  not  dare  refuse  when  the  deeds  were 
recorded  in  court,  and  he  held  them  in  his  hand ;  — 
and  very  few  women  would  have  been  brave  enough, 
too;  he  did  not  know  My  Miriam!  I  can  fancy  the 
poor  horse  lashed  through  the  heavy  mire,  tired, 
foaming,  panting,  while  his  strong  arm  urged  it  on, 
with  whip  and  spur;  I  can  hear  the  exulting  beating 
of  his  heart,  that  wild  refrain  that  was  raging  as  his 
death-knell  —  "Mine!  Mine  at  last!"  I  could  hear 
it,  I  say.  It  rung  in  my  ears  all  night.  He  held  her 
in  his  power;  she  must  be  his;  hastily,  yet  carefully 
he  performs  his  toilet ;  I  dare  say  he  stopped  to  think 
which  cravat  she  liked  best.  "Mine!  Mine!"  the 
song  is  ringing  in  every  stroke  of  his  throbbing 
breast.    Mount!  Mount!    Two  miles  fly  past.    He 

295 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

sweeps  through  the  moonlight  like  Death  riding 
on  a  pale  horse;  yonder  shine  lights  in  the  parlor; 
and  that  above;  is  it  hers?  He  throws  himself  from 
his  horse;  his  hour  has  come,  hers  too;  with  the 
license  and  minister,  his  own  adoration  —  and  she 
must  love  him  too !  —  he  will  win !  Show  him  the 
way  to  her!  She  is  his  forever  now!  His?  My  God! 
had  I  not  reason  to  cry,  "In  God's  name,  save  her, 
Frank!"  He  reaches  Mrs.  Carter's  room,  and  tri- 
umphantly throws  the  license  on  her  table.  He  is 
ready  now;  where  is  his  bride? 

Some  one  meets  him.    "Will!" 

The  story  is  told ;  she  is  not  to  be  won  by  force ; 
she  has  appealed  to  the  minister;  he  has  carried  the 
jest  too  far.  The  strong  man  reels;  he  falls  on  the 
bed  in  his  bridal  array  in  agony  too  great  for  tears. 
I  dare  not  ask  what  followed;  they  tell  me  it  was 
awful.  What  madness  and  folly,  to  dream  of  forc- 
ing her  to  marry  him!  Why,  if  she  had  loved  him, 
the  high-handed  proceeding  would  have  roused  the 
lion  of  her  spirit!  He  is  no  mate  for  her.  He  has  but 
one  thought,  and  at  last  words  come.  "Miriam! 
Miriam !  Call  her,  for  the  love  of  God ! "  One  word ! 
one  look !  Oh,  she  will  take  pity  on  him  in  his  misery. 
Let  her  come  for  one  instant !  she  cannot  be  so  cruel ! 
she  will  marry  him  if  only  to  save  him  from  death, 
or  worse!  And  fortunate  it  was  that  he  was  not 
armed,  one  of  the  two  would  have  died;  perhaps 
both.  The  heartbroken  prayer  goes  on.  The  exult- 
ing "Mine!  Mine!"  has  changed  to  the  groan  of 

296 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

despair,  "Miriam!  for  the  love  of  God!  come  to 
me!" 

And  where  is  the  bride?  Gibbes  has  her  caged  in 
the  next  room,  this  one  where  I  am  now  lying.  He 
has  advised  her  not  to  appear ;  to  go  to  bed  and  say 
no  more.  Sent  to  bed  like  a  baby  on  her  wedding 
night !  She  says  that  she  laughed  aloud  when  the  door 
closed  on  her.  She  laughing  in  here,  he  groaning  in 
there,  it  is  to  be  hoped  they  each  drowned  the  voice 
of  the  other.  .  .  .  The  minister  said  good-night.  He 
disclaimed  all  feeling  of  pique ;  he  felt  chiefly  for  the 
young  lady  —  and  the  disappointed  groom.  (Ouf !) 
I  sent  to  ask  Will  to  come  to  me  alone  for  a  moment ; 
no,  he  could  not  see  me;  write  to  him. 

Slowly,  as  though  an  aged,  infirm,  tottering  man, 
we  heard  him  descending  the  steps.  How  different 
from  the  step  that  carried  him  up !  We,  conscience- 
stricken,  sat  within,  with  doors  closed.  He  was  off. 
He  has  again  mounted  his  horse,  and  the  broken- 
hearted man,  hardly  less  cruel  than  the  expectant 
bridegroom,  dashes  the  rowel  in  his  side  and  disap- 
pears like  a  whirlwind. 

I  can  fancy  mother's  and  Lilly's  agony,  when  they 
hear  of  the  wedding.  All  Clinton  knew  it  last  night, 
and  if  they  did,  too,  I  know  there  was  as  little  sleep 
for  them  as  for  us.  I  know  mother  shrieked,  "My 
child!  My  child!"  while  Lilly  cried.  How  could  he 
believe  she  meant  to  marry  him,  without  even  send- 
ing word  to  mother  when  he  was  going  to  the  very 

297 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

town?  Bah !  What  a  jolly  go  if  those  two  got  hyster- 
ics about  the  supposed  Moral  Suicide!  Glad  I  was 
not  at  the  tea-party!  Well,  fearing  the  effect  of  such 
a  shock  in  mother's  nervous  state,  Gibbes  advised 
Miriam  to  go  on  the  cars  this  evening,  and  convince 
her  that  it  had  not  occurred,  court  records  and 
licenses  and  minister  to  the  contrary  notwithstand- 
ing; so  my  duck,  my  angel,  she  whom  I  call  my  Peri 
with  the  singed  wings  (children  who  play  in  the  fire 
must  expect  to  be  burned),  set  off  on  her  pious 
errand,  without  the  protecting  arm  of  her  bride- 
groom. 

Sunday,  7th  December. 

I  have  had  a  shock!  While  writing  alone  here 
(almost  all  have  gone  to  church),  I  heard  a  step 
ascending  the  stair.  What*  I  asked,  if  it  should  be 
Will?  Then  I  blamed  myself  for  supposing  such  a 
thing  possible.  Slowly  it  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
I  raised  my  head,  and  was  greeted  with  a  ghastly 
smile.  I  held  out  my  hand.  "Will!"  "Sarah!" 
(Misery  discards  ceremony.)  He  stood  before  me 
the  most  woebegone,  heartbroken  man  I  ever  saw. 

With  a  forced  laugh  he  said,  "Where  is  my  bride? 
Pshaw!  I  know  she  has  gone  to  Clinton!  I  have 
come  to  talk  to  you.  Was  n't  it  a  merry  wedding?" 
The  hollow  laugh  rang  again.  I  tried  to  jest,  but 
failed.  "Sit  down  and  let  me  talk  to  you,"  I  said. 
He  was  in  a  wayward  humor;  cut  to  the  heart,  ready 
to  submit  to  a  touch  of  silk,  or  to  resist  a  grasp  of 
iron.   This  was  the  man  I  had  to  deal  with,  and  get 

298 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

from  him  something  he  clung  to  as  to  —  not  his  life, 
but  —  Miriam.  And  I  know  so  little  how  to  act  in 
such  a  case,  know  so  little  about  dealing  gently  with 
wild  natures! 

He  alarmed  me  at  first.  His  forced  laugh  ceased ; 
he  said  that  he  meant  to  keep  that  license  always. 
It  was  a  joke  on  him  yesterday,  but  with  that  in  his 
possession,  the  tables  would  be  turned  on  her.  He 
would  show  it  to  her  occasionally.  It  should  keep 
her  from  marrying  any  one  else.  I  said  that  it  would 
be  demanded,  though;  he  must  deliver  it.  The  very 
devil  shot  in  his  eye  as  he  exclaimed  fiercely,  "If 
any  one  dares  demand  it,  I'll  die  before  giving  it 
up!  If  God  Almighty  came,  I'd  say  no!  I'll  die 
with  it  first!"  O  merciful  Father,  I  thought;  what 
misery  is  to  come  of  this  jest.  He  must  relinquish 
it.  Gibbes  will  force  him  into  it,  or  die  in  the 
attempt;  George  would  come  from  Virginia.  .  .  . 
Jimmy  would  cross  the  seas.  .  .  .  And  I  was  alone 
in  here  to  deal  with  such  a  spirit! 

I  commenced  gently.  Would  he  do  Miriam  such  a 
wrong?  It  was  no  wrong,  he  said;  let  him  follow  his 
own  will.  "You  profess  to  love  her?  "  I  asked.  "  Pro- 
fess? Great  God!  how  can  you?  I  adore  her!  I  tell 
you  that,  in  spite  of  all  this,  I  love  her  not  more  — 
that  is  impossible,  —  but  as  much  as  ever!  Look  at 
my  face  and  ask  that! "  burst  from  him  with  the  wild- 
est impulse.  "Very  well.  This  girl  you  love,  then,  you 
mean  to  make  miserable.  You  stand  forever  between 
her  and  her  happiness,  because  you  love  her!    Is 

299 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

this  love  ?  "  He  was  sullenly  silent.  I  went  on :  "  Not 
only  her  happiness,  but  her  honor  is  concerned. 
You  who  love  her  so,  do  her  this  foul  injury." 
"Would  it  affect  her  reputation?"  he  asked.  "Ask 
yourself!  Is  it  quite  right  that  you  should  hold  in 
your  hands  the  evidence  that  she  is  Mrs.  Carter, 
when  you  know  she  is  not,  and  never  will  be?  Is  it 
quite  honorable? "  "  In  God's  name,  would  it  injure 
Miriam?   I  'd  rather  die  than  grieve  her." 

My  iron  was  melted,  but  too  hot  to  handle;  I  put 
it  on  one  side,  satisfied  that  I  and  I  only  had  saved 
Miriam  from  injury  and  three  brothers  from  blood- 
shed, by  using  his  insane  love  as  a  lever.  It  does 
not  look  as  hard  here  as  it  was  in  reality ;  but  it  was 
of  the  hardest  struggles  I  ever  had  —  indeed,  it  was 
desperate.  I  had  touched  the  right  key,  and  satisfied 
of  success,  turned  the  subject  to  let  him  believe  he 
was  following  his  own  suggestions.  When  I  told  him 
he  must  free  Miriam  from  all  blame,  that  I  had 
encouraged  the  jest  against  her  repeated  remon- 
strances, and  was  alone  to  blame,  he  generously  took 
it  on  himself.  "I  was  so  crazy  about  her,"  he  said, 
"that  I  would  have  done  it  anyhow.  I  would  have 
run  any  risk  for  the  faintest  chance  of  obtaining 
her";  and  much  more  to  the  same  purpose  that, 
though  very  generous  in  him,  did  not  satisfy  my 
conscience.  But  he  surprised  me  by  saying  that 
he  was  satisfied  that  if  I  had  been  in  my  room,  and 
he  had  walked  into  the  parlor  with  the  license,  she 
would  have  married  him.    What  infatuation!    He 

300 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

says,  though,  that  I  only  prevented  it;  that  my  influ- 
ence, by  my  mere  presence,  is  stronger  than  his 
words.  I  don't  say  that  is  so;  but  if  I  helped  save 
her,  thank  Heaven! 

It  is  impossible  to  say  one  half  that  passed,  but 
he  showed  me  his  determination  to  act  just  as  he  has 
heretofore,  and  take  it  all  as  a  joke,  that  no  blame 
might  be  attached  to  her.  "Besides,  I'd  rather  die 
than  not  see  her;  I  laugh,  but  you  don't  know  what 
I  suffer!"  Poor  fellow!  I  saw  it  in  his  swimming 
eyes. 

At  last  he  got  up  to  go  before  they  returned  from 
church.  "Beg  her  to  meet  me  as  she  always  has. 
I  told  Mrs.  Worley  that  she  must  treat  her  just  the 
same,  because  I  love  her  so.  And  —  say  I  go  to 
Clinton  to-morrow  to  have  that  record  effaced,  and 
deliver  up  the  license.  I  would  not  grieve  her;  in- 
deed, I  love  her  too  well."  His  voice  trembled  as 
well  as  his  lips.  He  took  my  hand,  saying,  "You 
are  hard  on  me.  I  could  make  her  happy,  I  know, 
because  I  worship  her  so.  I  have  been  crazy  about 
her  for  three  years;  you  can't  call  it  a  mere  fancy. 
Why  are  you  against  me?  But  God  bless  you! 
Good-bye!"     And  he  was  gone. 

Why?  O  Will,  because  I  love  my  sister  too  much 
to  see  her  miserable  merely  to  make  you  happy ! 

Friday,  12th  December. 
My  cripple  friend  that  I  mentioned  so  far  back 
continues  to  send  me  the  most  affecting  messages. 

301 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

"He  is  really  wretched  about  me;  never  was  more 
distressed ;  thinks  of  nothing  else  " ;  and  so  on  through 
the  whole  list.  To  cap  the  climax,  he  sends  me  word 
that  he  can  now  walk  on  crutches,  and  the  first  time 
he  can  venture  in  a  buggy,  means  to  call  on  me. 
Que  le  del  nCen  preserve  I  What  could  we  talk  about? 
"His'n"  and  "her'n"  several  misfortunes?  That's 
too  bad!  Every  one  teases  me  unmercifully  about 
my  new  conquest.  I  can't  help  but  be  amused ;  and 
yet,  beware,  young  girls,  of  expressing  sympathy, 
even  for  soldiers!  There  is  no  knowing  what  effect 
it  may  produce. 

Sunday,  December  14th. 
Yesterday  evening,  some  time  before  sunset,  Mr. 
Enders  was  announced,  to  our  great  surprise,  as  we 
knew  he  had  been  in  Clinton  all  the  week,  having 
been  transferred  there  instead  of  to  Jackson,  as  he 
threatened.  He  was  the  most  miserable,  unhappy 
creature  one  could  possibly  imagine;  even  too  mel- 
ancholy for  me  to  laugh  at  him,  which  expresses 
the  last  degree  of  wretchedness.  To  all  our  questions, 
he  had  but  one  answer,  that  he  had  had  the  most 
dreadful  attack  of  "blues"  ever  since  he  was  here 
Sunday;  that  he  had  waited  every  evening  at  the 
cars,  expecting  us,  and  at  last,  seeing  that  we  had 
no  intention  of  coming,  he  could  no  longer  stand 
the  temptation,  so  got  permission  to  come  down  for 
a  day  to  Port  Hudson  so  he  could  come  out  to  see 
us.  .  .  .  Before  we  could  fairly  get  him  cheerful,  Will 
Carter  and  Ned  Badger,  who  returned  only  this 

302 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

week  from  Kentucky,  entered.  Will  was  in  a  bad 
humor,  and  wanted  to  vent  it  on  us ;  so  after  waiting 
some  time,  he  proposed  that  the  two  young  men 
should  go  with  him,  pocketing  at  the  same  moment 
the  cards  which  had  won  Miriam  and  saying  they 
would  have  a  nice  game  together,  and  just  the  rarest 
old  whiskey!  He  looked  around  to  see  the  effect 
produced.  We  girls  did  not  move,  but  Mr.  Enders 
said  he  must  really  return  immediately  to  Port 
Hudson,  and  start  for  Clinton  from  there  in  the 
night.  Will  thought  it  would  be  such  a  triumph  over 
us  to  carry  him  off,  that  he  insisted.  They'd  have 
a  fine  time!  cure  the  blues!  etc.  Ned  was  more 
than  willing;  and  at  last  Mr.  Enders  said,  Well!  he 
felt  just  so  desperate  that  he  did  not  care  what 
he'did ;  he  believed  he  would  go.  I  saw  he  was  in 
a  reckless  humor,  and  that  Will  knew  it,  too,  and 
I  promised  to  make  at  least  an  effort  to  save  him. 
Miriam  spoke  to  him  apart,  but  he  said  he  had 
promised  now;  he  must  go.  Will  ran  down  trium- 
phant to  mount  his  horse,  calling  him  to  follow. 
All  ran  out  to  see  him  off,  when  Frank  came  back 
to  tell  me  good-bye.  I  seized  the  opportunity,  and 
did  n't  I  plead!  I  told  him  I  would  not  ask  him  to 
stay  here,  though  he  knew  we  would  be  happy  to 
have  him  stay ;  and  begged  him  to  go  back  to  the 
camp,  and  leave  Will  alone.  ...  I  suggested  other 
resources;  talked  of  his  mother  whom  he  idolizes, 
pleaded  like  a  grandmother;  and  just  as  I  wound  up, 
came  Will's  voice  from  below,  "Why  the  devil  don't 

303 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

you  come,  Enders?  Hurry!"  He  moved  a  step, 
looked  at  me;  I  dropped  my  head  without  a  word. 
Here  I  must  confess  to  the  most  consummate  piece 
of  acting;  I  am  sorry,  but  as  long  as  it  saved  him 
from  doing  what  I  knew  he  would  have  cause  to 
regret,  I  am  not  ashamed  of  having  tried  it.  Will 
called  impatiently  again,  as  he  stood  hesitating 
before  me;  I  did  not  say,  "Stay,"  I  just  gave  the 
faintest  sigh  imaginable.  .  .  .  He  went  down  and  told 
Will  he  would  not  go!  Of  course,  Will  went  off  in 
a  rage  with  us. 

Friday,  December  26th,  1862. 

Monday  Dr.  Woods  and  Mr.  Van  Ingen  stopped, 
just  from  their  regiment  in  Kentucky  and  on  their 
way  home,  and  I  begged  so  hard  to  see  the  Doctor, 
and  promised  so  faithfully  to  retire  if  I  suffered  too 
much,  that  Mrs.  Badger  yielded,  like  an  angel,  and 
I  carried  my  point.  The  Doctor !  We  looked  in  vain 
at  each  other;  I  for  my  dandy  friend  in  irreproach- 
able broadcloth,  immaculate  shirt  bosoms  and  per- 
fect boots;  he  for  the  brusque,  impulsive  girl  who 
in  ordinary  circumstances  would  have  run  dancing 
into  the  parlor,  would  have  given  him  half-glad,  half- 
indifferent  greeting,  and  then  found  either  occasion 
to  laugh  at  him  or  would  have  turned  elsewhere  for 
amusement.  We  looked,  I  say,  in  vain.  Before  me 
stood  my  pattern  of  neatness  in  a  rough  uniform  of 
brown  homespun.  A  dark  flannel  shirt  replaced  the 
snowy  cambric  one,  and  there  was  neither  cravat  nor 
collar  to  mark  the  boundary  line  between  his  dark 

304 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

face  and  the  still  darker  material.  And  the  dear 
little  boots!  O  ye  gods  and  little  fishes!  they  were 
clumsy,  and  mud-spattered !  If  my  mouth  twitched 
with  laughter  as  I  silently  commented,  the  Doctor's 
did  not!  I,  who  always  danced  on  my  way,  came  in 
lying  back  on  my  pillows,  and  wheeled  in  by  a  serv- 
ant. The  Doctor's  sympathy  was  really  touching, 
and  poor  consolation  he  gave  when  he  heard  the 
story.  "You  will  recover,  to  a  certain  extent;  but 
will  feel  it  more  or  less  all  your  life." 

I  am  the  ruin  of  all  these  puns ;  the  gentlemen  will 
hate  me;  I  must  learn  to  ignore  their  conundrums 
until  they  answer  them  themselves,  and  to  wait 
patiently  for  the  pun  instead  of  catching  it  and 
laughing  before  it  is  half-spoken.  Why  can't  I  do 
as  the  others  do?  There  was  Mr.  Van  Ingen  with 
his  constant  stream  of  them,  that  I  anticipated 
several  times.  He  said  to  me,  "  If  I  were  asked  what 
town  in  Louisiana  I  would  rather  be  in  this  evening, 
what  would  my  answer  be?"  I  should  have  looked 
perfectly  innocent,  and  politely  inquisitive;  but  I 
did  neither.  I  saw  the  answer  instantly,  and 
laughed.  "Ah,  you  have  guessed!  I  can  see  it  in 
your  eyes!"  he  said.  Of  course  I  had,  but  I  told  him 
I  was  afraid  to  say  it,  for  fear  he  might  think  I  was 
flattering  myself.  Then  we  both  laughed.  The 
place  he  referred  to  was  Bayou,  Sarah.  .  .  . 

Yesterday,  being  a  beautiful  day,  I  was  carried 
down  in  honor  of  Christmas,  to  meet  Captain  Fenner 

305 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  Mr.  Duggan  who  were  to  dine  with  us.  The  cars 
had  brought  Miriam  a  beautiful  little  set  of  collars 
and  cuffs  from  Dellie,  and  the  oddest,  sweetest  little 
set  for  me,  from  Morgan,  for  our  Christmas  gift. 
It  is  all  Lilly.  .  .  . 

We  had  an  exquisite  Christmas  gift  the  night 
before,  a  magnificent  serenade,  a  compliment  from 
Colonel  Breaux.  It  very  singularly  happened  that 
Miriam,  Anna,  and  Ned  Badger  were  sitting  up  in 
the  parlor,  watching  alone  for  Christmas,  when  the 
band  burst  forth  at  the  steps,  and  startled  them  into 
a  stampede  upstairs.  But  Gibbes,  who  came  with 
the  serenaders,  caught  them  and  brought  them 
back  into  the  parlor,  where  there  were  only  eight 
gentlemen ;  and  in  this  novel,  unheard-of  style,  only 
these  two  girls,  with  Gibbes  to  play  propriety,  enter- 
tained all  these  people  at  midnight  while  the  band 
played  without.  .  .  . 

I  commenced  writing  to-day  expressly  to  speak 
of  our  pleasant  Christmas;  yet  it  seems  as  though 
I  would  write  about  anything  except  that,  since  I 
have  not  come  to  it  yet.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  feel 
I  could  not  do  it  justice.  At  least,  I  can  say  who 
was  there.  At  sunset  came  Captain  Bradford  and 
Mr.  Conn,  the  first  stalking  in  with  all  the  assurance 
which  a  handsome  face  and  fine  person  can  lend,  the 
second  following  with  all  the  timidity  of  a  first 
appearance.  .  .  .  Again,  after  a  long  pause,  the  door 
swung  open,  and  enter  Mr.  Halsey,  who  bows  and 
takes  the  seat  on  the  other  side  of  me,  and  Mr.  Brad- 

306 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ford,  of  Colonel  Allen  memory,  once  more  returned 
to  his  regiment,  who  laughs,  shakes  hands  all  around, 
and  looks  as  happy  as  a  schoolboy  just  come  home 
for  the  holidays,  who  has  never-ending  visions  of 
plumcakes,  puddings,  and  other  sweet  things.  While 
all  goes  on  merrily,  another  rap  comes,  and  enter 
Santa  Claus,  dressed  in  the  old  uniform  of  the  Mexi- 
can War,  with  a  tremendous  cocked  hat,  and  pre- 
posterous beard  of  false  hair,  which  effectually  con- 
ceal the  face,  and  but  for  the  mass  of  tangled  short 
curls  no  one  could  guess  that  the  individual  was 
Bud.  It  was  a  device  of  the  General's,  which  took 
us  all  by  surprise.  Santa  Claus  passes  slowly  around 
the  circle,  and  pausing  before  each  lady,  draws  from 
his  basket  a  cake  which  he  presents  with  a  bow, 
while  to  each  gentleman  he  presents  a  wineglass 
replenished  from  a  most  suspicious-looking  black 
bottle  which  also  reposes  there.  Leaving  us  all 
wonder  and  laughter,  Santa  Claus  retires  with  a 
basket  much  lighter  than  it  had  been  at  his  en- 
trance. .  .  .  Then  follow  refreshments,  and  more  and 
more  talk  and  laughter,  until  the  clock  strikes 
twelve,  when  all  these  ghosts  bid  a  hearty  good- 
night and  retire. 

January  1st,  Thursday,  1863. 

1863!  Why  I  have  hardly  become  accustomed  to 
writing  '62  yet!  Where  has  this  year  gone?  With 
all  its  troubles  and  anxieties,  it  is  the  shortest  I  ever 
spent!  '61  and  '62  together  would  hardly  seem  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  days  to  me.    Well,  let  time 

307 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

fly.  Every  hour  brings  us  nearer  our  freedom,  and  we 
are  two  years  nearer  peace  now  than  we  were  when 
South  Carolina  seceded.  That  is  one  consolation.  .  .  . 
I  learn,  to  my  unspeakable  grief,  that  the  State 
House  is  burned  down. 

Sunday,  January  4th. 

One  just  from  Baton  Rouge  tells  us  that  my  pre- 
sentiment about  our  house  is  verified;  Yankees  do 
inhabit  it,  a  Yankee  colonel  and  his  wife.  They  say 
they  look  strangely  at  home  on  our  front  gallery, 
pacing  up  and  down.  .  .  .  And  a  stranger  and  a 
Yankee  occupies  our  father's  place  at  the  table  where 
he  presided  for  thirty-one  years.  .  .  .  And  the  old 
lamp  that  lighted  up  so  many  eager,  laughing  faces 
around  the  dear  old  table  night  after  night;  that 
with  its  great  beaming  eye  watched  us  one  by  one 
as  we  grew  up  and  left  our  home;  that  witnessed 
every  parting  and  every  meeting ;  by  which  we  sang, 
read,  talked,  danced,  and  made  merry;  the  lamp 
that  Hal  asked  for  as  soon  as  he  beheld  the  glitter- 
ing chandeliers  of  the  new  innovation,  gas;  the  lamp 
that  all  agreed  should  go  to  me  among  other  treas- 
ures, and  be  cased  in  glass  to  commemorate  the 
old  days,  —  our  old  lamp  has  passed  into  the  hands 
of  strangers  who  neither  know  nor  care  for  its  his- 
tory. And  mother's  bed  (which,  with  the  table  and 
father's  little  ebony  stand,  alone  remained  unin- 
jured) belongs  now  to  a  Yankee  woman!  Father 
prized  his  ebony  table.  He  said  he  meant  to  have  a 
gold  plate  placed  in  its  centre,  with  an  inscription, 

308 


ANTE-BELLUM    HOME    OF   JUDGE    THOMAS    GIBBES    MORGAN, 
ON    CHURCH    STREET,    BATON    ROUGE,    LA. 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  I  meant  to  have  it  done  myself  when  he  died  so 
soon  after.  A  Yankee  now  sips  his  tea  over  it,  just 
where  some  beau  or  beauty  of  the  days  of  Charles  II 
may  have  rested  a  laced  sleeve  or  dimpled  arm.  .  .  .* 
Give  the  devil  his  due.  Bless  Yankees  for  one 
thing;  they  say  they  tried  hard  to  save  our  State 
House. 

1  This  "little  ebony  table"  —  which  happened  to  be  mahogany  so 
darkened  with  age  as  to  be  recognized  only  by  an  expert  many  years 
after  the  war  —  and  a  mahogany  rocking-chair  are  the  two  pieces  of 
furniture  which  survived  the  sacking  of  Judge  Morgan's  house  and 
remain  to  his  descendants  to-day.  Such  other  furniture  as  could 
be  utilized  was  appropriated  by  negroes.  —  W.  D. 


BOOK  IV 

From  my  sick  bed,  this  15th  day  of  January,  1863. 
Linwood,  Thursday. 

Am  I  not  glad  to  get  another  blank  book !  On  Sun- 
day my  old  one  gave  out,  to  my  unspeakable  distress, 
and  I  would  have  been  dSsolSe  if  I  had  not  had  three 
or  four  letters  to  answer,  as  writing  is  my  chief  occu- 
pation during  my  tedious  illness.  O  that  unfortunate 
trip  to  Port  Hudson !  Have  I  not  cause  to  remember 
and  regret  it?  Two  months  last  Sunday  since  I  have 
been  lying  here  a  cripple,  and  I  am  not  yet  able  to 
take  a  step.  However,  on  Monday  mother  sent  Dr. 
Woods  as  my  fourth  physician,  and  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  that  either  he  or  Nature  will  effect  a  cure 
before  long.  Wonder  how  it  feels  to  walk?  It  makes 
me  weary  to  see  others  try  it;  I  always  fear  that  the 
exertion  must  be  very  painful  —  an  absurd  idea 
which  I  endeavor  to  keep  to  myself.  .  .  . 

Monday,  January  19th. 
That  blessed  Mr.  Halsey  like  an  angel  of  mercy 
sent  me  "Kate  Coventry"  yesterday,  just  when  I 
was  pining  for  a  bonne  bouche  of  some  kind,  I  did  not 
care  what,  whether  a  stick  of  candy  or  an  equally 
palatable  book.  It  is  delightful  to  have  one's  wishes 
realized  as  soon  as  they  are  made.  I  think  it  rather 
caused  me  to  relent  towards  Mr.  Halsey ;  I  did  not 

310 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary' 

feel  half  so  belligerent  as  I  did  just  the  Sunday 
before.  At  all  events,  I  felt  well  enough  to  go  down  in 
the  evening  when  he  called  again,  though  I  had  been 
too  indisposed  to  do  so  on  a  previous  occasion.  (O 
Sarah !) 

Wheeled  into  the  parlor,  there  I  beheld  not  my 
friend  alone,  but  several  other  individuals  whose  pres- 
ence rather  startled  me.  I  found  myself  undergoing 
the  terrors  of  an  introduction  to  a  Colonel  Locke, 
and  to  my  unspeakable  surprise,  Major  Buckner  was 
claiming  the  privilege  of  shaking  hands  with  me,  and 
Colonel  Steadman  was  on  the  other  side,  and — was 
that  Mr.  Halsey?  O  never!  The  Mr.  Halsey  I  knew 
was  shockingly  careless  of  his  dress,  never  had  his 
hair  smooth ;  let  his  beard  grow  as  it  would,  and  wore 
a  most  ferocious  slouched  hat.  This  one  had  taken 
more  than  one  look  at  the  glass,  a  thing  I  should  have 
imagined  the  other  incapable  of  doing.  He  had  be- 
stowed the  greatest  care  and  attention  on  his  dress, 
had  brought  his  beard  within  reasonable  limits,  had 
combed  his  hair  with  the  greatest  precision,  and  held 
lightly  in  one  hand  an  elegant  little  cap  that  I  am 
sure  must  be  provokingly  becoming.  Why,  he  was 
handsome!  Ah  cat  some  mistake,  surely,  I  cried  to 
myself.  My  Mr.  Halsey  was  not,  certainly!  "  If  it  be 
I,  as  I  hope  it  may  be,  I  've  a  little  dog  at  home  who 
will  surely  know  me,"  I  kept  repeating.  I  resolved  to 
test  the  little  dog's  sagacity,  so  I  pretended  to  know 
this  apparition,  and  thanked  him  for  the  pleasure  he 
had  afforded  me  by  sending  me  "Kate  Coventry." 

3ii 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

He  looked  conscious  and  pleased!  The  "little  dog" 
had  found  out  his  identity !  I  was  more  puzzled  than 
ever.  How  account  for  this  wondrous  change?  .  .  . 
But  metaphorphosed  "John"  talked!  He  was  ex- 
patiating at  a  most  extraordinary  rate,  and  had 
been  doing  so  for  an  hour  after  supper,  when  Gibbes 
drew  his  chair  near  me  (Gibbes  likes  to  hear  what 
visitors  say  to  his  little  sister) ;  whereupon  timid  Mr. 
Halsey  drew  his  slightly  back,  and  very  soon  after 
asked  for  his  horse.  O  Gibbes !  you  wretch !  what  an 
amusing  t6te-a-t§te  you  spoiled,  you  innocent!  And 
the  General,  of  course,  only  waited  for  his  exit  before 
beginning  to  tease  me  unmercifully.  I  must  put  an 
end  to  this;  they  shall  not  bring  such  unjust  charges 
against  him.  Yet  how  am  I  to  make  them  see  reason? 

Night. 
I  am  more  pleased  to-night  than  I  could  well  ex- 
press. I  have  been  talking  to  an  old  and  dear  friend, 
no  other  than  Will  Pinckney!  His  arrival  was  as 
unexpected  as  it  was  agreeable.  The  cry  of  "Here 
comes  Will  Pinckney"  sent  me  back  to  August,  '60, 
when  the  words  were  always  the  forerunner  of  fun 
and  frolic.  .  .  .  He  told  me  what  he  called  his  secrets ; 
of  how  he  had  been  treated  by  the  War  Department 
(which  has,  indeed,  behaved  shockingly  towards  the 
Colonel). 

Thursday,  2  2d  January. 

What  a  rush  of  visitors  last  night!    One  would 
imagine  they  had  all  come  by  appointment,  ex- 

312 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

pressly  to  have  an  impromptu  dance,  which  they 
certainly  enjoyed,  by  the  way.  There  was  little  Cap- 
tain C ,  the  Susceptible  and  Simple,  who  so  in- 
nocently says  "I  seen"  and  "I  done  it,"  without 
the  faintest  suspicion  of  the  peculiarity,  and  looks 
so  sweet,  and  guileless,  and  amiable,  and  soft,  that  I 
can't  help  wondering  if  he  would  be  sticky  if  I  touch 
him.  Indeed,  I  think  his  hands  stick,  at  least;  for 
when  he  told  me  good-bye,  it  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  I  extracted  mine  from  his  grasp  (he 
having  forgotten  to  return  it  during  a  long  farewell 
address),  and  even  when  I  succeeded  in  recovering 
it,  by  being  almost  rude,  it  was  not  released  without 
a  very  sensible  pressure  from  the  putty,  or  whatever 
it  is  that  is  so  tenacious.  I  am  afraid  it  is  rather  a 
habit  of  his,  which  has  lost  all  force  or  meaning  by 
being  too  frequently  repeated.  Then  there  was  a 
horrid  little  wretch,  vulgar  and  underbred  (to  my 

idea),  to  whom  I  was  introduced  as  Mr.  G .  .  .  . 

But  here  is  Lieutenant  Dupre,  whom  I  have  not  yet 
introduced,  though  we  have  met  before.  Tall,  good- 
looking,  a  fine  form,  and  not  a  sparkling  face,  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  his  chief  merit  lies  in  his  legs. 
Certainly  when  he  dances  he  puts  his  best  foot  for- 
ward, and  knows  it,  too.  Miriam,  who  adores  danc- 
ing, is  flirting  openly  with  this  divinity  of  the 
"Deux  Temps"  and  polka,  and  skims  around  with 
his  arm  about  her  (position  sanctified  by  the  lively 
air  Lydia  is  dashing  off  on  the  piano)  with  a  grace 
and  lightness  only  equaled  by  his  own.   And  Lieu- 

3i3 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tenant  Duggan,  with  his  good,  honest,  clever  face 
which  so  unmistakably  proclaims  him  "Tom,"  we 
know  already,  so  no  further  description  is  needed. 
Captain  Fenner,  too,  is  well  known,  with  his  short, 
though  graceful  figure,  his  good-humored,  intelligent 
face,  irresistible  imperial,  and  that  roguish  expres- 
sion about  that  large  mouth  which  displays  such 
handsome  teeth,  and  seems  to  say,  "Don't  trust 
me  too  far." 

Little  Captain  C tells  me  a  long  story  about 

how  Colonel  Steadman  had  come  to  him  and  asked 
if  he  believed  it  possible  that  Miss  Morgan  had  put 
her  life  and  happiness  in  the  hands  of  a  homoeopathic 
physician;  how  he  considered  her  fate  sealed;  and 
what  a  shame  it  was  to  trifle  with  such  a  sad  affair, 
at  my  age,  too,  ruined  for  life !  It  was  dreadful !  Too 
sad!  Hereupon,  as  continuing  the  story,  he  remarks 
that  being  asked  his  opinion  by  the  Colonel,  he 
agreed  perfectly  and  thought  with  him  it  was  an 
appalling  sacrifice,  and  oh,  all  sorts  of  things!  Any- 
thing, just  to  make  me  miserable  and  unhappy! 

Well,  what  is  written  will  come  to  pass.  First 
comes  a  doctor  with  a  butchering  apparatus  who 
cups  and  bleeds  me  unmercifully,  says  I  '11  walk  ten 
days  after,  and  exit.  Enter  another.  Croton  oil  and 
strychnine  pills,  that'll  set  me  up  in  two  weeks.  And 
exit.  Enter  a  third.  Sounds  my  bones  and  pinches 
them  from  my  head  to  my  heels.  Tells  of  the  prob- 
ability of  a  splinter  of  bone  knocked  off  my  left  hip, 
the  possibility  of  paralysis  in  the  leg,  the  certainty 

3H 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

of  a  seriously  injured  spine,  and  the  necessity  for 
the  most  violent  counter-irritants.  Follow  blisters 
which  sicken  even  disinterested  people  to  look  at, 
and  a  trifle  of  suffering  which  I  come  very  near  ac- 
knowledging to  myself.  Enter  the  fourth.  Inhuman 
butchery !  wonder  they  did  not  kill  you !  Take  three 
drops  a  day  out  of  this  tiny  bottle,  and  presto!  in 
two  weeks  you  are  walking!  A  fifth,  in  the  character 
of  a  friend,  says,  "My  dear  young  lady,  if  you  do, 
your  case  is  hopeless."  What  wonder  that  I  am 
puzzled?  A  wiser  head  would  be  confused.  I  want 
to  believe  all,  but  how  is  it  possible?  "What  will  be, 
will  be." 

Bon  I  here  comes  a  note  from  Mr.  Halsey !  Ahga  I 
Lend  him  "  Zaidee  "  ?  Certainly !  Here  is  a  postscript 
three  times  the  length  of  the  note;  voyons.  Will  Miss 
Sarah  make  the  annotations  he  requested,  in  "Kate 
Coventry"?  He  is  anxious  to  have  the  lady's  opin- 
ion on  the  questions  of  taste  and  propriety  which  so 
frequently  occur  in  the  book.  ...  I'll  not  attempt 
such  a  display;  yet  there  are  several  passages  I  am 
dying  to  mark.  One  in  particular,  speaking  of  the 
peculiarities  of  men,  of  how  they  are  always  more  at 
ease  when  they  have  their  hands  employed,  drawing 
confidence  and  conversation  from  a  paper-knife  and 
book  to  tumble,  a  pair  of  scissors  and  a  thread  to 
snip,  or  even  from  imbibing  the  head  of  a  cane,  I  am 
anxious  to  call  his  attention  to.  If  I  dared  add  to 
the  list,  "or  a  cord  and  tassel  to  play  with"!   This 

3i5 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

nervous  Mr.  Halsey  is  wearing  out  my  pretty  blue 
tassel  that  Frank  admires  so  much;  he  says  he  can 
talk  better  when  he  dangles  it.  Think  the  hint  might 
save  it  in  the  future! 

Friday  night,  January  23d. 

I  am  particularly  happy  to-day,  for  we  have  just 
heard  from  Brother  for  the  first  time  since  last  July. 
And  he  is  well,  and  happy,  and  wants  us  to  come  to 
him  in  New  Orleans  so  he  can  take  care  of  us,  and  no 
longer  be  so  anxious  for  our  safety.  If  we  only  could ! 
—  To  be  sure  the  letter  is  from  a  gentleman  who  is 
just  out  of  the  city,  who  says  he  writes  at  Brother's 
earnest  request;  still  it  is  something  to  hear,  even 
indirectly.  One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  he  encloses 
with  the  request  that  mother  will  draw  for  any 
amount  she  wishes.  Dear  Brother,  money  is  the 
least  thing  we  need ;  first  of  all,  we  are  dying  for  want 
of  a  home.   If  we  could  only  see  ours  once  more! 

During  this  time  we  have  heard  incidentally  of 
Brother ;  of  his  having  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  — 
which  I  am  confident  he  did  not  do  until  Butler's 
October  decree  —  of  his  being  a  prominent  Union 
man,  of  his  being  a  candidate  for  the  Federal  Con- 
gress, and  of  his  withdrawal ;  and  finally  of  his  hav- 
ing gone  to  New  York  and  Washington,  from  which 
places  he  only  returned  a  few  weeks  since.  That  is 
all  we  ever  heard.  A  very  few  people  have  been  inso- 
lent enough  to  say  to  me,  "Your  brother  is  as  good 
a  Yankee  as  any."  My  blood  boils  as  I  answer,  "Let 
him  be  President  Lincoln  if  he  will,  and  I  would 

316 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

love  him  the  same."  And  so  I  would.  Politics  can- 
not come  between  me  and  my  father's  son.  What  he 
thinks  right,  is  right,  for  him,  though  not  for  me.  If 
he  is  for  the  Union,  it  is  because  he  believes  it  to  be 
in  the  right,  and  I  honor  him  for  acting  from  convic- 
tion, rather  than  from  dread  of  public  opinion.  If  he 
were  to  take  up  the  sword  against  us  to-morrow, 
Miriam  and  I,  at  least,  would  say,  "If  he  thinks  it 
his  duty,  he  is  right;  we  will  not  forget  he  is  our 
father's  child."  And  we  will  not.  From  that  sad 
day  when  the  sun  was  setting  for  the  first  time  on  our 
father's  grave,  when  the  great,  strong  man  sobbed 
in  agony  at  the  thought  of  what  we  had  lost,  and 
taking  us  both  on  his  lap  put  his  arms  around  us  and 
said,  "Dear  little  sisters,  don't  cry;  I  will  be  father 
and  brother,  too,  now,"  he  has  been  both.  He  re- 
spects our  opinions,  we  shall  respect  his.  I  confess 
myself  a  rebel, body  and  soul.  Confess?  I  glory  in  it! 
Am  proud  of  being  one;  would  not  forego  the  title 
for  any  other  earthly  one ! 

Though  none  could  regret  the  dismemberment  of 
our  old  Union  more  than  I  did  at  the  time,  though  I 
acknowledge  that  there  never  was  a  more  unneces- 
sary war  than  this  in  the  beginning,  yet  once  in 
earnest,  from  the  secession  of  Louisiana  I  date  my 
change  of  sentiment.  I  have  never  since  then  looked 
back;  forward,  forward!  is  the  cry;  and  as  the 
Federal  States  sink  each  day  in  more  appalling  folly 
and  disgrace,  I  grow  prouder  still  of  my  own  country 
and  rejoice  that  we  can  no  longer  be  confounded 

3i7 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

with  a  nation  which  shows  so  little  fortitude  in 
calamity,  so  little  magnanimity  in  its  hour  of  tri- 
umph. Yes!  I  am  glad  we  are  two  distinct  tribes!  I 
am  proud  of  my  country;  only  wish  I  could  fight  in 
the  ranks  with  our  brave  soldiers,  to  prove  my  en- 
thusiasm; would  think  death,  mutilation,  glorious 
in  such  a  cause;  cry,  "War  to  all  eternity  before  we 
submit."  But  if  I  can't  fight,  being  unfortunately  a 
woman,  which  I  now  regret  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  at  least  I  can  help  in  other  ways.  What  fingers 
can  do'in  knitting  and  sewing  for  them,  I  have  done 
with  the  most  intense  delight;  what  words  of  en- 
couragement and  praise  could  accomplish,  I  have 
tried  on  more  than  one  bold  soldier  boy,  and  not 
altogether  in  vain;  I  have  lost  my  home  and  all  its 
dear  contents  for  our  Southern  Rights,  have  stood 
on  its  deserted  hearthstone  and  looked  at  the  ruin  of 
all  I  loved — without  a  murmur,  almost  glad  of  the 
sacrifice  if  it  would  contribute  its  mite  towards  the 
salvation  of  the  Confederacy.  And  so  it  did,  indi- 
rectly; for  the  battle  of  Baton  Rouge  which  made 
the  Yankees,  drunk  with  rage,  commit  outrages  in 
our  homes  that  civilized  Indians  would  blush  to 
perpetrate,  forced  them  to  abandon  the  town  as 
untenable,  whereby  we  were  enabled  to  fortify  Port 
Hudson  here,  which  now  defies  their  strength.  True 
they  have  reoccupied  our  town ;  that  Yankees  live  in 
our  house ;  but  if  our  generals  said  burn  the  whole 
concern,  would  I  not  put  the  torch  to  our  home 
readily,  though  I  love  its  bare  skeleton  still?    In- 

3i8 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

deed  I  would,  though  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  with- 
out one.  Don't  Lilly  and  mother  live  in  a  wretched 
cabin  in  vile  Clinton  while  strangers  rest  under  our 
father's  roof?    Yankees,  I  owe  you  one  for  that! 

Well!  I  boast  myself  Rebel,  sing  "Dixie,"  shout 
Southern  Rights,  pray  for  God's  blessing  on  our 
cause,  without  ceasing,  and  would  not  live  in  this 
country  if  by  any  possible  calamity  we  should  be 
conquered ;  I  am  only  a  woman,  and  that  is  the  way 
I  feel.  Brother  may  differ.  What  then?  Shall  I  re- 
spect, love  him  less?  No!  God  bless  him!  Union  or 
Secession,  he  is  always  my  dear,  dear  Brother,  and 
tortures  could  not  make  me  change  my  opinion. 

Friday,  January  30th. 

A  whole  week  has  passed  since  I  opened  this  book, 
a  week  certainly  not  spent  in  idleness,  if  not  a  very 
interesting  one.  For  I  have  kept  my  room  almost 
all  the  time,  leaving  Miriam  and  Anna  to  entertain 
their  guests  alone.  Even  when  Mr.  Halsey  called  on 
Sunday,  I  declined  going  down.  Why,  I  wonder?  I 
felt  better  than  usual,  was  in  a  splendid  humor  for 
talking,  yet  —  my  excuses  took  my  place,  and  I  lay 
quietly  in  bed,  dreaming  by  the  firelight,  and  singing 
hymns  to  myself.  Once  in  a  while  the  thought  would 
occur  to  me,  "Why  don't  I  go  down?"  But  it  was 
always  answered  with  a  wry  face,  and  the  hymn 
went  on.  Yet  I  knew  he  had  come  expecting  to  see  me. 

On  the  table  near  me  stood  a  bunch  of  snowdrops 
that  Miriam  had  culled  for  her  beloved  Captain  Brad- 

319 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ford.  An  idea  struck  me  so  suddenly  that  my  voice 
died  instantly.  The  spirit  of  mischief  had  taken  pos- 
session of  me.  Laughing  to  myself,  I  caught  them  up, 
drew  three  long  bright  hairs  from  my  head  —  they 
looked  right  gold-y  in  the  firelight  —  and  tied  them 
around  the  flowers  —  I  thought  I  should  never  get 
to  the  end  while  wrapping  them.  Thus  secured,  a 
servant  carried  them  into  the  parlor  with  "Miss 
Sarah's  compliments  to  Mr.  Halsey."  Poor  Miriam's 
cry  of  surprise  at  finding  her  flowers  thus  appropri- 
ated, reached  my  ears  and  caused  me  to  laugh  again. 
It  was  rather  cool!  But  then  it  was  better  fun  than 
going  down.   And  then  did  n't  it  flatter  his  vanity! 

0  men !  you  vain  creatures !  A  woman  would  receive 
a  whole  bunch  of  hair  and  forty  thousand  bouquets, 
without  having  her  head  turned ;  while  you  —  Well ! 

1  heard  enough  from  Miriam  to  amuse  me,  at  all 
events. 

And  a  day  or  two  after,  Captain  Bradford  had  a 
long  story  to  tell  her  —  what  he  called  a  good  joke 
on  Mr.  Halsey.  Of  how  he  had  found  him  kissing 
three  long  bright  hairs  in  rapture,  and  on  asking 
where  he  got  them,  received  as  an  answer  —  "From 
the  God-bless edest  little  angel  that  ever  wore  long 
hair!"  This  blessedest  little  angel  did  not  intend  it 
as  a  souvenir,  and  is  consequently  annoyed  about 
stories  of  three  hairs,  intended  as  a  string  and  nothing 
more,  being  wrapped  in  tissue  paper  and  treasured 
up  —  so  goes  the  tale  —  instead  of  being  thrown 
into  the  fire  as  I  certainly  expected. 

320 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Last  night  Anna  and  Miriam  sat  on  my  bed  at 
twilight,  playing  cards  while  I  tried  my  guitar,  when 

Captain  C ,  Major  Spratley,   and  Lieutenant 

Dupre  were  announced.  Quick,  down  went  the 
cards  as  they  sprang  to  their  feet  to  throw  off  their 
neat  calicoes.  Where  was  Miriam's  comb,  and  grena- 
dine, and  collar,  and  belt?  Good  gracious!  where 
was  her  buckle?  On  the  bureau,  mantel,  washstand, 
or  under  them?  "Please  move  a  moment,  Anna!" 
In  such  a  hurry,  do!  There  was  Anna,  "Wait!  I'm 
in  a  hurry,  too!  Where  is  that  pomatum?  You  Mal- 
vina!  if  you  don't  help  me,  I  '11  —  There!  take  that, 
Miss!  Now  fly  around!"  Malvina,  with  a  faint, 
dingy  pink  suddenly  brought  out  on  her  pale  sea- 
green  face,  did  fly  around,  while  I,  hushing  my  guitar 
in  the  tumult,  watch  each  running  over  the  other,  in 
silent  amazement,  wondering  if  order  can  come  out 
of  such  confusion,  and  if  the  people  downstairs  were 
worth  all  that  trouble. 

When  I  finally  made  my  appearance  in  the  parlor, 
it  was  with  the  conviction  that  I  would  have  a  dread- 
fully stupid  time,  and  Captain  C too.  However, 

though  at  first  I  had  both,  soon  only  the  last  was 
left  me.  Some  one  suggested  calling  the  Spirits, 
which  game  I  had  imagined  "played  out"  long  ago; 
and  we  derived  a  great  deal  of  amusement  from  it. 
Six  of  us  around  a  small  table  invoked  them  with 
the  usual  ceremony.  There  was  certainly  no  trick 
played;  every  finger  was  above  the  board,  and  all 

321 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

feet  sufficiently  far  from  the  single  leg  to  insure  fair 
play.  Every  rap  seemed  to  come  exactly  from  the 
centre  of  the  table,  and  was  painfully  distinct 
though  not  loud.  When  asked  if  there  was  a  writing 

medium  present,   it  indicated  Captain  C .     I 

observed  that  he  seemed  averse  to  trying  it,  but 
yielded  at  length  and  took  the  pencil  in  his  hand. 

Our  first  question,  of  course,  was,  How  long  before 
Peace?  Nine  months  was  written.  Which  foreign 
nation  would  recognize  us  first?  France,  then  Eng- 
land, in  eight  months.  Who  was  Miriam  to  marry? 
Captain  of  a  battery.  "Who?"  we  all  shouted. 
11  Captain  C.  E.  Fenner  " *  was  written  again.  When? 

In  ten  months.     I  believe  Captain  C to    be 

honest  about  it.  He  seemed  to  have  no  control  over 
his  hand,  and  his  arm  trembled  until  it  became 
exceedingly  painful.  Of  course,  I  do  not  actually 
believe  in  Spiritualism;  but  there  is  certainly  some- 
thing in  it  one  cannot  understand;  and  Mrs.  Bad- 
ger's experience  is  enough  to  convert  one,  alone. 
Each  was  startled  in  turn  by  extraordinary  reve- 
lations concerning  themselves.  Gibbes  was  to  be 
transferred  to  the  Trans- Mississippi  Department,2 
George  would  come  home,  and  all  the  gentlemen  had 
the  name  and  address  of  future  sweethearts  written 
in  full.  The  question  was  asked,  "Who  will  Sarah 
Morgan  fall  in  love  with?"    Every  eye  was  on  the 

1  Note  by  Mrs.  Dawson  in  1896:  wrong  —  she  married  Lieuten- 
ant Dupre. 

2  Note  by  Mrs.  Dawson:  he  was  transferred  in  his  coffin. 

322 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

pencil  as  a  capital  "H"  was  traced.  As  the  "a"  fol- 
lowed, I  confess  to  a  decided  disgust  at  the  Spirits, 
and  was  about  to  beg  it  might  be  discontinued  when 
the  rest  followed  rapidly  until  in  three  separate  lines 
appeared,  "Has  not  seen  him  yet"  (here  came  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  from  Lydia  and  Miriam, 
who  knew  how  true  it  was,  and  even  Gibbes  looked 
astonished).  "  Captain,  in  Virginia.  Captain  Charles 
Lewis."  *  A  perfect  buzz  of  comments  followed; 
every  one  asked  every  one  else  if  they  knew  any  one 
by  that  name,  and  every  one  said  no.  Gibbes  was 
decidedly  more  interested  than  I.  That  odd  "Has 
not  seen  him  yet,"  expressing  so  exactly  the  fact  that 
I  pride  myself  upon,  carried  conviction  in  the  truth 
of  Spirits,  almost.  "Who  will  she  marry?"  asked 
Gibbes.  (He  has  a  pet  belief,  in  which  I  encourage 
him,  that  I  will  never  marry.)  Again  came  the  name 
as  distinctly  as  before,  of  Captain  Charles  Lewis. 
"When  will  she  marry  him?"  "  In  June,  1864,"  was 
the  answer.  I  was  to  meet  him  in  New  Orleans. 
November  followed,  after  a  period. 

Of  course,  the  Spirits  produced  some  slight  com- 
motion which  made  the  time  pass  pleasantly  until 
Miriam  began  to  waltz  with  her  Monsieur  Deux 

Temps.   Then  Captain  C told  me  why  he  had 

been  unwilling  to  try  it;  of  how  his  father  believed 
so  strongly  in  it  that  he  had  very  nearly  been  made 

1  Captain  F.  W.  Dawson,  whom  Sarah  Morgan  eventually  mar- 
ried, was  at  that  time  a  captain  in  Virginia,  and  she  had  not  yet  seen 
him. 

323 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

crazy  by  it,  and  how  he  had  sworn  to  abandon  the 
practice  of  consulting  them,  seeing  the  effect  pro- 
duced. He  did  not  believe  in  Spirits  himself;  but 
could  not  account  for  the  influence  he  was  under, 
when  he  saw  his  hand  involuntarily  write  things  he 
was  totally  unconscious  of,  himself.  However,  he 
proposed  that  we  two  should  have  a  private  con- 
sultation with  them,  which  I  opened  by  asking  when 
I  should  again  see  my  home.  I  know  he  did  not  know 
anything  about  it;  but  on  the  paper  appeared  — 
"Five  months  have  gone  —  five  months  more."  It 
is  just  five  months  since  I  did  see  home.  I  think  it 
was  the  26th  of  August  that  Charlie  took  me  there. 
He  asked  if  he  should  ever  marry.  "Never.  You 
will  be  jilted  by  the  lady  you  love  in  Missouri,  Miss 
Christina  P ."  I  pointed  it  out  to  him,  as  he  hap- 
pened to  be  looking  at  me  when  it  was  written.  It 
surprised  him  into  saying,  "Why,  I'm  engaged  to 
her!"  I  asked  whose  spirit  was  communicating 
with  us.  He  was  watching  the  dance  when  his  hand 

wrote,  "John  C ."   I  laughed  and  asked  if  there 

was  such  a  person,  pointing  to  the  name.  He  looked 
actually  sick  as  he  said,  "Yes,  my  brother;  he  is 
dead."  I  had  not  the  heart  to  talk  of  Spirits  again; 
so  we  took  to  writing  poetry  together,  every  alter- 
nate line  falling  to  my  lot.  It  made  an  odd  jingle,  the 
sentimental  first  line  being  turned  to  broad  farce  by 
my  absurd  second  one. 


324 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

February  5th,  Thursday  night. 
A  letter  from  Lavinia  has  come  to  me  all  the  way 
from  California.  How  happy  it  made  me,  though 
written  so  long  ago !  Only  the  30th  of  June !  Lavinia 
has  changed,  changed.  There  is  a  sad,  worn-out 
tone  in  every  line;  it  sounds  old,  as  though  she  had 
lived  years  and  years  ago  and  was  writing  as  though 
she  were  dead  and  buried  long  since.  Lavinia,  whose 
letters  used  to  keep  me  in  sunshine  for  weeks  at  a 
time!  Well!  no  wonder  she  is  sad.  All  these  dreary 
years  from  home,  with  so  faint  a  hope  of  ever  again 
seeing  it,  and  all  these  sorrows  and  troubles  that 
have  befallen  us,  combined,  are  not  calculated  to 
make  her  happy.  But  I  wish  she  had  kept  her  cheer- 
ful heart.  Well,  perhaps  it  is  easier  for  us  to  be 
cheerful  and  happy,  knowing  the  full  extent  of  our 
calamities,  than  it  is  for  her,  knowing  so  little  and 
having  just  cause  to  fear  so  much.  Courage!  Better 
days  are  coming!  And  then  I  '11  have  many  a  funny 
tale  to  tell  her  of  the  days  when  the  Yankees  kept  us 
on  the  qui  vive,  or  made  us  run  for  our  lives.  It  will 
" tell"  merrily;  be  almost  as  lively  as  those  running 
days  were.  One  of  my  chief  regrets  over  my  helpless- 
ness is  that  I  will  not  be  able  to  run  in  the  next  stam- 
pede. I  used  to  enjoy  it.  Oh,  the  days  gone  by,  the 
dreary  days,  when,  cut  off  from  our  own  people,  and 
surrounded  by  Yankees,  we  used  to  catch  up  any 
crumb  of  news  favorable  to  our  side  that  was 
smuggled  into  town,  and  the  Brunots  and  I  would 
write  each  other  little  dispatches  of  consolation 

325 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  send  them  by  little  negroes !  Those  were  dismal 
days.  Yet  how  my  spirits  would  rise  when  the  long 
roll  would  beat,  and  we  would  prepare  for  flight! 

Monday,  February  9th,  1863.  Night. 

A  letter  from  my  dear  little  Jimmy !  How  glad  I 
am,  words  could  not  express.  This  is  the  first  since 
he  arrived  in  England,  and  now  we  know  what 
has  become  of  him  at  last.  While  awaiting  the 
completion  of  the  ironclad  gunboat  to  which  he 
has  been  appointed,  like  a  trump  he  has  put  him- 
self to  school,  and  studies  hard,  which  is  evident 
from  the  great  improvement  he  already  exhibits  in 
his  letter.  .  .  . 

My  delight  at  hearing  from  Jimmy  is  overcast  by 
the  bad  news  Lilly  sends  of  mother's  health.  I  have 
been  unhappy  about  her  for  a  long  while ;  her  health 
has  been  wretched  for  three  months;  so  bad,  that 
during  all  my  long  illness  she  has  never  been  with 
me  after  the  third  day.  I  was  never  separated  from 
mother  for  so  long  before;  and  I  am  homesick,  and 
heartsick  about  her.  Only  twenty  miles  apart,  and 
she  with  a  shocking  bone  felon  in  her  hand  and  that 
dreadful  cough,  unable  to  come  to  me,  whilst  I  am 
lying  helpless  here,  as  unable  to  get  to  her.  I  feel 
right  desperate  about  it.  This  evening  Lilly  writes 
of  her  having  chills  and  fevers,  and  looking  very,  very 
badly.  So  Miriam  started  off  instantly  to  see  her. 
My  poor  mother!  She  will  die  if  she  stays  in  Clinton, 
I  know  she  will ! 

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A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Wednesday,  February  18th. 
Gibbes  has  gone  back  to  his  regiment.   I  can't  say 
how  dreary  I  felt  when  he  came  to  tell  me  good-bye. 
I  did  not  mean  to  cry ;  but  how  could  I  help  it  when 
he  put  his  arms  around  me?  .  .  . 

Sunday,  February  22d,  1863. 

Mother  has  come  to  me !  O  how  glad  I  was  to  see 
her  this  morning!  And  the  Georgia  project,  which  I 
dared  not  speak  of  for  fear  it  should  be  mere  talk  and 
nothing  more,  is  a  reality.  —  Yes!  we  are  actually 
going!  I  can  hardly  believe  that  such  good  fortune 
as  getting  out  of  that  wretched  Clinton  really  awaits 
us.  Perhaps  I  shall  not  like  Augusta  either;  a  stran- 
ger in  a  strange  city  is  not  usually  enchanted  with 
everything  one  beholds;  but  still  —  a  change  of 
scene  —  a  new  country  —  new  people  —  it  is  worth 
while!  Shall  we  really  go?  Will  some  page  in  this 
book  actually  record  "Augusta,  Georgia"?  No!  I 
dare  not  believe  it !  Yet  the  mere  thought  has  given 
me  strength  within  the  last  two  weeks  to  attempt 
to  walk.  Learning  to  walk  at  my  age !  Is  it  not  amus- 
ing? But  the  smallest  baby  knows  more  about  it 
than  I  did  at  first.  Of  course,  I  knew  one  foot  was  to 
be  put  before  the  other;  but  the  question  was  how  it 
was  to  be  done  when  they  would  not  go?  I  have  con- 
quered that  difficulty,  however,  and  can  now  walk 
almost  two  yards,  if  some  one  holds  me  fast. 

Sunset.  Will  [Pinckney]  has  this  instant  left. 
Ever  since  dinner  he  has  been  vehemently  opposing 

327 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

the  Georgia  move,  insisting  that  it  will  cost  me  my 
life,  by  rendering  me  a  confirmed  cripple.  He  says  he 
could  take  care  of  me,  but  no  one  else  can,  so  I  must 
not  be  moved.  I  am  afraid  his  arguments  have 
about  shaken  mother's  resolution.  Pshaw !  it  will  do 
me  good!  I  must  go.  It  will  not  do  to  remain  here. 
Twenty-seven  thousand  Yankees  are  preparing  to 
march  on  Port  Hudson,  and  this  place  will  certainly 
be  either  occupied  by  them,  or  burned.  To  go  to 
Clinton  is  to  throw  myself  in  their  hands,  so  why  not 
one  grand  move  to  Augusta? 

Monday,  February  23d. 

Here  goes!  News  has  been  received  that  the 
Yankees  are  already  packed,  ready  to  march  against 
us  at  any  hour.  If  I  was  up  and  well,  how  my  heart 
would  swell  with  exultation.  As  it  is,  it  throbs  so 
with  excitement  that  I  can  scarcely  lie  still.  Hope 
amounts  almost  to  presumption  at  Port  Hudson. 
They  are  confident  that  our  fifteen  thousand  can 
repulse  twice  the  number.  Great  God !  —  I  say  it 
with  all  reverence  —  if  we  could  defeat  them !  //  we 
could  scatter,  capture,  annihilate  them!  My  heart 
beats  but  one  prayer  —  Victory !  I  shall  grow  wild 
repeating  it.  In  the  mean  time,  though,  Linwood  is 
in  danger.  This  dear  place,  my  second  home;  its 
loved  inhabitants ;  think  of  their  being  in  such  peril ! 
Oh,  I  shall  cry  heartily  if  harm  comes  to  them!  But 
I  must  leave  before.  No  use  of  leaving  my  bones  for 
the  Yankees  to  pick ;  better  sing  "  Dixie  "  in  Georgia. 

328 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

To-morrow,  consequently,  I  go  to  that  earthly  para- 
dise, Clinton,  thence  to  be  re-shipped  (so  goes  the 
present  programme)  to  Augusta  in  three  days.  And 
no  time  for  adieux!  Wonder  who  will  be  surprised, 
who  vexed,  and  who  will  cry  over  the  unforeseen 
separation?  Not  a  single  "good-bye"!  Nothing  — 
except  an  old  brass  button  that  Mr.  Halsey  gave  me 
as  a  souvenir  in  case  he  should  be  killed  in  the  com- 
ing assault.  It  is  too  bad.  Ah!  Destiny!  Destiny! 
Where  do  you  take  us?  During  these  two  trying 
years,  I  have  learned  to  feel  myself  a  mere  puppet 
in  the  hands  of  a  Something  that  takes  me  here 
to-day,  to-morrow  there,  always  unexpectedly,  and 
generally  very  unwillingly,  but  at  last  leads  me 
somewhere  or  other,  right  side  up  with  care,  after 
a  thousand  troubles  and  distresses.  The  hand  of 
Destiny  is  on  me  now;  where  will  it  lead  me? 

Tuesday  [February]  24th. 

Meeting  Miriam  by  mere  accident  on  the  road 
last  evening  and  hearing  of  our  surprising  journey  to 
Georgia,  Mr.  Halsey  came  to  spend  a  last  evening 
with  us,  and  say  good-bye.  What  a  deluge  of  regrets, 
hopes,  fears,  etc.  Perfectly  overwhelming.  Why  had 
I  not  told  him  of  it  the  night  before?  All  our  friends 
would  be  so  disappointed  at  not  having  an  opportu- 
nity of  saying  good-bye.  If  the  Yankees  would  only 
postpone  their  attack  so  he  might  accompany  us! 
But  no  matter;  he  would  come  on  in  two  months, 
and  meet  us  there.  And  would  we  not  write  to  him? 

329 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Thank  you!  Miriam  may,  but  I  shall  hardly  do  so! 
We  had  such  a  pleasant  evening  together,  talking 
over  our  trip.  Then  we  had  a  dozen  songs  on  the 
guitar,  gay,  sad,  and  sentimental;  then  he  gave  me  a 
sprig  of  jessamine  as  a  keepsake,  and  I  ripped  open 
my  celebrated  "running-bag"  to  get  a  real  for  true 
silver  five  cents  —  a  perfect  curiosity  in  these  days 
—  which  I  gave  him  in  exchange,  and  which  he 
promised  to  wear  on  his  watch-chain.  He  and  Miriam 
amused  themselves  examining  the  contents  of  my 
sack  and  laughing  at  my  treasures,  the  wretches! 
Then  came  —  good-bye.  I  think  he  was  sorry  to  see 
us  go.  Well!  he  ought  to  miss  us!  Ah!  these  fare- 
wells! To-day  I  bid  adieu  to  Linwood.  "It  may  be 
for  years,  and  it  may  be  forever!"  This  good-bye 
will  cost  me  a  sigh. 

Wednesday,  February  25th. 

Here  we  are  still,  in  spite  of  our  expectations. 
Difficulty  on  difficulty  arose,  and  an  hour  before  the 
cars  came,  it  was  settled  that  mother  should  go  to 
Clinton  and  make  the  necessary  arrangements,  and 
leave  us  to  follow  in  a  day  or  two.  Two  days  more! 
Miriam  no  more  objected  than  I  did,  so  mother  went 
alone.  Poor  Miriam  went  to  bed  soon  after,  very  ill. 
So  ill  that  she  lay  groaning  in  bed  at  dusk,  when  a 
stir  was  heard  in  the  hall  below,  and  Colonel  Stead- 
man,  Major  Spratley,  and  Mr.  Dupre  were  an- 
nounced. Presto !  up  she  sprang,  and  flew  about  in 
the  most  frantic  style,  emptying  the  trunk  on  the 
floor  to  get  her  prettiest  dress,  and  acting  as  though 

330 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

she  had  never  heard  of  pains  and  groans.  When  we 
leave,  how  much  I  shall  miss  the  fun  of  seeing  her 
and  Anna  running  over  each  other  in  their  excite- 
ment of  dressing  for  their  favorites.  Anna's  first 
exclamation  was,  "Ain't  you  glad  you  did  n't  go!" 
and  certainly  we  were  not  sorry,  from  mere  compas- 
sion; for  what  would  she  have  done  with  all  three? 
If  I  laughed  at  their  extra  touches  to  their  dresses, 
it  did  not  prevent  me  from  bestowing  unusual  atten- 
tion on  my  own.  And  by  way  of  bravado,  when  I 
was  carried  down,  I  insisted  on  Mrs.  Badger  lending 
me  her  arm,  to  let  me  walk  into  the  parlor  and  prove 
to  Colonel  Steadman  that  in  spite  of  his  prophecies 
I  was  able  to  take  a  few  steps  at  least. 

His  last  words,  "You  won't  go,  will  you?  Think 
once  more!"  sent  me  upstairs  wondering,  thinking, 
undecided,  and  unsatisfied,  hardly  knowing  what  to 
do,  or  what  to  say.  Every  time  I  tried  to  sleep, 
those  calm,  deep,  honest  gray  eyes  started  up  before 
my  closed  ones,  and  that  earnest  "  You  won't  go,  will 
you?  Think  once  more!"  rang  in  my  ears  like  a  sol- 
emn warning.  Hopes  of  seeing  Georgia  grew  rather 
faint,  that  night.  Is  it  lawful  to  risk  my  life?  But 
is  it  not  better  to  lose  it  while  believing  that  I  have 
still  a  chance  of  saving  it  by  going,  than  to  await  cer- 
tain death  calmly  and  unresisting  in  Clinton?  I'd 
rather  die  struggling  for  this  life,  this  beautiful, 
loved,  blessed  life  that  God  has  given  me! 


331 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

March  ioth,  Tuesday. 

I  had  so  many  nice  things  to  say  —  which  now, 
alas,  are  knocked  forever  from  my  head  —  when 
news  came  that  the  Yankees  were  advancing  on  us, 
and  were  already  within  fifteen  miles.  The  panic 
which  followed  reminded  me  forcibly  of  our  running 
days  in  Baton  Rouge.  Each  one  rapidly  threw  into 
trunks  all  clothing  worth  saving,  with  silver  and 
valuables,  to  send  to  the  upper  plantation.  I  sprang 
up,  determined  to  leave  instantly  for  Clinton  so 
mother  would  not  be  alarmed  for  our  safety;  but 
before  I  got  halfway  dressed,  Helen  Carter  came  in, 
and  insisted  on  my  remaining,  declaring  that  my 
sickness  and  inability  to  move  would  prove  a  pro- 
tection to  the  house,  and  save  it  from  being  burned 
over  their  heads.  Put  on  that  plea,  though  I  have  no 
faith  in  melting  the  bowels  of  compassion  of  a  Yan- 
kee, myself,  I  consented  to  remain,  as  Miriam  ur- 
gently represented  the  dangers  awaiting  Clinton. 
So  she  tossed  all  we  owned  into  our  trunk  to  send  to 
mother  as  hostage  of  our  return,  and  it  is  now  await- 
ing the  cars.  My  earthly  possessions  are  all  reposing 
by  me  on  the  bed  at  this  instant,  consisting  of  my 
guitar,  a  change  of  clothes,  running-bag,  cabas,  and 
this  book.  For  in  spite  of  their  entreaties,  I  would 
not  send  it  to  Clinton,  expecting  those  already  there 
to  meet  with  a  fiery  death  —  though  I  would  like 
to  preserve  those  of  the  most  exciting  year  of  my 
life.  They  tell  me  that  this  will  be  read  aloud  to  me 

332 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  torment  me,  but  I  am  determined  to  burn  it  if 
there  is  any  danger  of  that.  Why,  I  would  die  with- 
out some  means  of  expressing  my  feelings  in  the 
stirring  hours  so  rapidly  approaching.  I  shall  keep 
it  by  me. 

Such  bustle  and  confusion!  Every  one  hurried, 
anxious,  excited,  whispering,  packing  trunks,  send- 
ing them  off;  wondering  negroes  looking  on  in 
amazement  until  ordered  to  mount  the  carts  waiting 
at  the  door,  which  are  to  carry  them  too  away.  How 
disappointed  the  Yankees  will  be  at  finding  only 
white  girls  instead  of  their  dear  sisters  and  brothers 
whom  they  love  so  tenderly!  Sorry  for  their  dis- 
appointment ! 

"They  say"  they  are  advancing  in  overwhelming 
numbers.  That  is  nothing,  so  long  as  God  helps  us, 
and  from  our  very  souls  we  pray  His  blessing  on  us  in 
this  our  hour  of  need.  For  myself,  I  cannot  yet  fully 
believe  they  are  coming.  It  would  be  a  relief  to  have 
it  over.  I  have  taken  the  responsibility  of  Lydia's 
jewelry  on  my  shoulders,  and  hope  to  be  able  to 
save  it  in  the  rush  which  will  take  place.  Down  at 
the  cars  Miriam  met  Frank  Enders,  going  to  Clinton 
in  charge  of  a  car  full  of  Yankees,  —  deserters,  who 
came  into  our  lines.  He  thinks,  just  as  I  do,  that  our 
trunks  are  safer  here  than  there.  Now  that  they  are 
all  off,  we  all  agree  that  it  was  the  most  foolish  thing 
we  could  have  done.  These  Yankees  interfere  with 
all  our  arrangements. 

I  am  almost  ashamed  to  confess  what  an  absurdly 
333 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

selfish  thought  occurred  to  me  a  while  ago.  I  was 
lamenting  to  myself  all  the  troubles  that  surround 
us,  the  dangers  and  difficulties  that  perplex  us,  think- 
ing of  the  probable  fate  that  might  befall  some  of  our 
brave  friends  and  defenders  in  Port  Hudson,  when 
I  thought,  too,  of  the  fun  we  would  miss.  Horrid, 
was  it  not?  But  worse  than  that,  I  was  longing  for 
something  to  read,  when  I  remembered  Frank  told 
me  he  had  sent  to  Alexandria  for  Bulwer's  "Strange 
Story"  for  me,  and  then  I  unconsciously  said,  "How 
I  wish  it  would  get  here  before  the  Yankees!"  I  am 
very  anxious  to  read  it,  but  confess  I  am  ashamed  of 
having  thought  of  it  at  such  a  crisis.  So  I  toss  up  the 
farthing  Frank  gave  me  for  a  keepsake  the  other  day, 
and  say  I  '11  try  in  future  to  think  less  of  my  own 
comfort  and  pleasure. 

Poor  Mr.  Halsey!  What  a  sad  fate  the  pets  he 
procures  for  me  meet!  He  stopped  here  just  now  on 
his  way  somewhere,  and  sent  me  a  curious  bundle 
with  a  strange  story,  by  Miriam.  It  seems  he  got  a 
little  flying-squirrel  for  me  to  play  with  (must  know 
my  partiality  for  pets),  and  last  night,  while  attempt- 
ing to  tame  him,  the  little  creature  bit  his  finger, 
whereupon  he  naturally  let  him  fall  on  the  ground, 
(Temper!)  which  put  a  period  to  his  existence.  He 
had  the  nerve  to  skin  him  after  the  foul  murder,  and 
sent  all  that  remains  of  him  out  to  me  to  prove  his 
original  intention.  The  softest,  longest,  prettiest 
fur,  and  such  a  duck  of  a  tail!  Poor  little  animal 
could  n't  have  been  larger  than  my  fist.   Wonder  if 

334 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

its  spirit  will  meet  with  that  of  the  little  bird  which 

flew  heavenward  with  all  that  pink  ribbon  and  my 

letter  from  Mr.  Halsey? 

Saturday,  March  14th. 
5  o'clock,  P.M. 

They  are  coming!  The  Yankees  are  coming  at 
last !  For  four  or  five  hours  the  sound  of  their  cannon 
has  assailed  our  ears.  There !  —  that  one  shook  my 
bed !  Oh,  they  are  coming!  God  grant  us  the  victory ! 
They  are  now  within  four  miles  of  us,  on  the  big 
road  to  Baton  Rouge.  On  the  road  from  town  to 
Clinton,  we  have  been  fighting  since  daylight  at 
Readbridge,  and  have  been  repulsed.  Fifteen  gun- 
boats have  passed  Vicksburg,  they  say.  It  will  be  an 
awful  fight.  No  matter!  With  God's  help  we'll  con- 
quer yet !  Again !  —  the  report  comes  nearer.  Oh, 
they  are  coming!  Coming  to  defeat,  I  pray  God. 

Only  we  seven  women  remain  in  the  house.  The 
General  left  this  morning,  to  our  unspeakable  relief. 
They  would  hang  him,  we  fear,  if  they  should  find 
him  here.  Mass'  Gene  has  gone  to  his  company;  we 
are  left  alone  here  to  meet  them.  If  they  will  burn 
the  house,  they  will  have  to  burn  me  in  it.  For  I 
cannot  walk,  and  I  know  they  shall  not  carry  me. 
I  'm  resigned.  If  I  should  burn,  I  have  friends  and 
brothers  enough  to  avenge  me.  Create  such  a  con- 
sternation !  Better  than  being  thrown  from  a  buggy 
—  only  I  'd  not  survive  to  hear  of  it ! 

Letter  from  Lilly  to-day  has  distressed  me  beyond 
measure.   Starvation  which  threatened  them  seems 

335. 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

actually  at  their  door.  With  more  money  than  they 
could  use  in  ordinary  times,  they  can  find  nothing  to 
purchase.  Not  a  scrap  of  meat  in  the  house  for  a 
week.  No  pork,  no  potatoes,  fresh  meat  obtained 
once  as  a  favor,  and  poultry  and  flour  articles  un- 
heard of.  Besides  that,  Tiche  crippled,  and  Mar- 
gret  very  ill,  while  Liddy  has  run  off  to  the  Yan- 
kees. Heaven  only  knows  what  will  become  of  them. 
The  other  day  we  were  getting  ready  to  go  to  them 
(Thursday)  when  the  General  disapproved  of  my 

running  such  a  risk,  saying  he  'd  call  it  a  d piece 

of  nonsense,  if  I  asked  what  he  thought;  so  we  re- 
mained. They  will  certainly  starve  soon  enough 
without  our  help ;  and  yet  —  I  feel  we  should  all  be 
together  still.  That  last  superfluous  word  is  the  re- 
frain of  Gibbes's  song  that  is  ringing  in  my  ears,  and 
that  I  am  chanting  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy  of  excite- 
ment :  — 

"Then  let  the  cannon  boom  as  it  will, 
We'll  be  gay  and  happy  still!" 

And  we  will  be  happy  in  spite  of  Yankee  guns! 
Only  —  my  dear  This,  That,  and  the  Other,  at 
Port  Hudson,  how  I  pray  for  your  safety!  God 
spare  our  brave  soldiers,  and  lead  them  to  victory! 
I  write,  touch  my  guitar,  talk,  pick  lint,  and  pray  so 
rapidly  that  it  is  hard  to  say  which  is  my  occupation. 
I  sent  Frank  some  lint  the  other  day,  and  a  bundle  of 
it  for  Mr.  Halsey  is  by  me.  Hope  neither  will  need 
it !   But  to  my  work  again ! 

336 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Half-past  One  o'clock,  A.M. 

It  has  come  at  last!  What  an  awful  sound!  I 
thought  I  had  heard  a  bombardment  before;  but 
Baton  Rouge  was  child's  play  compared  to  this.  At 
half-past  eleven  came  the  first  gun  —  at  least  the 
first  /  heard,  and  I  hardly  think  it  could  have  com- 
menced many  moments  before.  Instantly  I  had  my 
hand  on  Miriam,  and  at  my  first  exclamation,  Mrs. 
Badger  and  Anna  answered.  All  three  sprang  to 
their  feet  to  dress,  while  all  four  of  us  prayed  aloud. 
Such  an  incessant  roar!  And  at  every  report  the 
house  shaking  so,  and  we  thinking  of  our  dear  sol- 
diers, the  dead  and  dying,  and  crying  aloud  for 
God's  blessing  on  them,  and  defeat  and  overthrow  to 
their  enemies.  That  dreadful  roar!  I  can't  think 
fast  enough.  They  are  too  quick  to  be  counted.  We 
have  all  been  in  Mrs.  Carter's  room,  from  the  last 
window  of  which  we  can  see  the  incessant  flash  of  the 
guns  and  the  great  shooting  stars  of  flame,  which 
must  be  the  hot  shot  of  the  enemy.  There  is  a  burn- 
ing house  in  the  distance,  the  second  one  we  have  seen 
to-night.  For  Yankees  can't  prosper  unless  they  are 
pillaging  honest  people.  Already  they  have  stripped 
all  on  their  road  of  cattle,  mules,  and  negroes. 

Gathered  in  a  knot  within  and  without  the  win- 
dow, we  six  women  up  here  watched  in  the  faint 
starlight  the  flashes  from  the  guns,  and  silently  won- 
dered which  of  our  friends  were  lying  stiff  and  dead, 
and  then,  shuddering  at  the  thought,  betook  our- 
selves to  silent  prayer.  I  think  we  know  what  it  is  to 

337 


A  ^Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

"wrestle  with  God  in  prayer";  we  had  but  one 
thought.  Yet  for  women,  we  took  it  almost  too 
coolly.  No  tears,  no  cries,  no  fear,  though  for  the 
first  five  minutes  everybody's  teeth  chattered  vio- 
lently. Mrs.  Carter  had  her  husband  in  Fenner's 
battery,  the  hottest  place  if  they  are  attacked  by 
the  land  force,  and  yet  to  my  unspeakable  relief  she 
betrayed  no  more  emotion  than  we  who  had  only 
friends  there.  We  know  absolutely  nothing;  when 
does  one  ever  know  anything  in  the  country?  But 
we  presume  that  this  is  an  engagement  between 
our  batteries  and  the  gunboats  attempting  to 
run  the  blockade. 

Firing  has  slackened  considerably.  All  are  to  lie 
down  already  dressed;  but  being  in  my  nightgown 
from  necessity,  I  shall  go  to  sleep,  though  we  may 
expect  at  any  instant  to  hear  the  tramp  of  Yankee 

cavalry  in  the  yard. 

Sunday,  March  15th. 

To  my  unspeakable  surprise,  I  waked  up  this 
morning  and  found  myself  alive.  Once  satisfied  of 
that,  and  assuring  myself  of  intense  silence  in  the 
place  of  the  great  guns  which  rocked  me  to  sleep 
about  half-past  two  this  morning,  I  began  to  doubt 
that  I  had  heard  any  disturbance  in  the  night,  and 
to  believe  I  had  written  a  dream  within  a  dream, 
and  that  no  bombardment  had  occurred;  but  all 
corroborate  my  statement,  so  it  must  be  true,  and 
this  portentous  silence  is  only  the  calm  before  the 
storm.   I  am  half  afraid  the  land  force  won't  attack. 

338 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

We  can  beat  them  if  they  do;  but  suppose  they  lay 
siege  to  Port  Hudson  and  starve  us  out?  That  is  the 
only  way  they  can  conquer. 

We  hear  nothing  still  that  is  reliable. 

Just  before  daylight  there  was  a  terrific  explo- 
sion which  electrified  every  one  save  myself.  I  was 
sleeping  so  soundly  that  I  did  not  hear  anything  of 
it,  though  Mrs.  Badger  says  that  when  she  sprang 
up  and  called  me,  I  talked  very  rationally  about  it, 
and  asked  what  it  could  possibly  be.  Thought  that  I 
had  ceased  talking  in  my  sleep.  Miriam  was  quite 
eloquent  in  her  dreams  before  the  attack,  crying 
aloud,  "See!  See!  What  do  I  behold?"  as  though  she 
were  witnessing  a  rehearsal  of  the  scene  to  follow. 

Later.  Dr.  Kennedy  has  just  passed  through,  and 
was  within  the  fortifications  last  night;  brings  news 
which  is  perhaps  reliable,  as  it  was  obtained  from 
Gardiner.  It  was,  as  we  presumed,  the  batteries  and 
gunboats.  One  we  sunk ;  another,  the  Mississippi,  we 
disabled  so  that  the  Yankees  had  to  abandon  and 
set  fire  to  her,  thirty-nine  prisoners  falling  into  our 
hands.  It  was  her  magazine  that  exploded  this 
morning.  Two  other  boats  succeeded  in  passing, 
though  badly  crippled.  Our  batteries  fired  gallantly. 
Hurrah!  for  Colonel  Steadman!  I  know  his  was  by 
no  means  the  least  efficient ! 

Clinton,  they  say,  will  inevitably  be  sacked.  Alas, 
for  mother  and  Lilly !  What  can  we  do?  The  whole 
country  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  Yankees  as  long  as 
Gardiner  keeps  within  the  fortifications.    Six  miles 

339 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

below  here  they  entered  Mr.  Newport's,  pulled  the 
pillow-cases  from  the  beds,  stuffed  them  with  his 
clothes,  and  helped  themselves  generally.  What  can 
we  expect  here?  To  tell  the  truth,  I  should  be  disap- 
pointed if  they  did  not  even  look  in  at  us,  on  their 
marauding  expedition. 

March  17th. 

On  dit  the  Yankees  have  gone  back  to  Baton 
Rouge,  hearing  we  had  sixty  thousand  men  coming 
down  after  them.  I]  believe  I  am  positively  disap- 
pointed! I  did  want  to  see  them  soundly  thrashed! 
The  light  we  thought  was  another  burning  house 
was  that  of  the  Mississippi.  They  say  the  shrieks  of 
the  men  when  our  hot  shells  fell  among  them,  and 
after  they  were  left  by  their  companions  to  burn, 
were  perfectly  appalling. 

Another  letter  from  Lilly  has  distressed  me  beyond 
measure.  She  says  the  one  chicken  and  two  dozen 
eggs  Miriam  and  I  succeeded  in  buying  from  the 
negroes  by  prayers  and  entreaties,  saved  them  from 
actual  hunger ;  and  for  two  days  they  had  been  living 
on  one  egg  apiece  and  some  cornbread  and  syrup. 
Great  heavens!  has  it  come  to  this?  Nothing  to  be 
bought  in  that  abominable  place  for  love  or  money. 
Where  the  next  meal  comes  from,  nobody  knows. 

Wednesday,  March  25th. 

Early  last  evening  the  tremendous  clatter  of  a 
sword  that  made  such  unnecessary  noise  that  one 
might  imagine  the  owner  thereof  had  betaken  him- 

340 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

self  to  the  favorite  pastime  of  his  childhood,  and 
was  prancing  in  on  his  murderous  weapon,  having 
mistaken  it  for  his  war  steed,  announced  the  arrival 
of  Captain  Bradford,  who  with  two  friends  came  to 
say  adieu.  Those  vile  Yankees  have  been  threaten- 
ing Ponchatoula,  and  his  battery,  with  a  regiment  of 
infantry,  was  on  its  way  there  to  drive  them  back. 
The  Captain  sent  me  word  of  the  distressing  de- 
parture, with  many  assurances  that  he  would  take 
care  of  "my"  John. 

Scarcely  had  he  departed,  when  lo!  John  arrives, 
and  speaks  for  himself.  Yes!  he  is  going!  Only  a 
moment  to  say  good-bye  .  .  .  sunset  approaches. 
Well !  he  must  say  good-bye  now !  Chorus  of  young 
ladies:  "Oh,  will  you  not  spend  the  evening  with  us? 
You  can  easily  overtake  the  battery  later."  Chorus 
of  married  ladies:  "You  must  not  think  of  going. 
Here  is  a  comfortable  room  at  your  service,  and 
after  an  early  breakfast  you  can  be  on  the  road  as 
soon  as  the  others."  No  necessity  for  prayers;  he 
readily  consents.  And  yet,  as  the  evening  wore  on, 
when  we  laughed  loudest  I  could  not  help  but  think 
of  poor  little  Mrs.  McPhaul  sitting  alone  and  cry- 
ing over  her  brother's  departure,  fancying  his  pre- 
cious bones  lying  on  the  damp  ground  with  only  the 
soldier's  roof  —  the  blue  vault  of  heaven  —  above, 
while  two  miles  away  he  sat  in  a  comfortable  parlor 
amusing  himself. 

About  sunrise,  while  the  most  delightful  dreams 
floated  through  my  brain,  a  little  voice  roused  me 
~       34i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

exclaiming,  "Sady!  Sady!  John  Hawsey  say  so! 
Say  give  Sady!"  I  opened  my  eyes  to  see  little 
Gibbes  standing  by  me,  trying  to  lay  some  flowers 
on  my  cheek,  his  little  face  sparkling  with  delight  at 
his  own  importance.  A  half-opened  rosebud  with  the 
faintest  blush  of  pink  on  its  creamy  leaves  —  a 
pink,  and  a  piece  of  arbor  vitae,  all  sprinkled  with 
dew,  this  was  my  bouquet.  The  servant  explained 
that  Mr.  Halsey  had  just  left,  and  sent  me  that  with 
his  last  good-bye.  And  he  has  gone!  "And  now 
there's  nothing  left  but  weeping!  His  face  I  ne'er 
shall  see,  and  naught  is  left  to  me,  save"  —  putting 
away  my  book  and  all  recollections  of  nonsense.  So 
here  goes ! 

Tuesday,  March  31st. 

"To  be,  or  not  to  be;  that's  the  question." 
Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  Confederacy  to  suffer  the 
pangs  of  unappeasable  hunger  and  never-ending 
trouble,  or  to  take  passage  to  a  Yankee  port,  and 
there  remaining,  end  them.  Which  is  best?  I  am  so 
near  daft  that  I  cannot  pretend  to  say ;  I  only  know 
that  I  shudder  at  the  thought  of  going  to  New  Or- 
leans, and  that  my  heart  fails  me  when  I  think  of  the 
probable  consequence  to  mother  if  I  allow  a  mere 
outward  sign  of  patriotism  to  overbalance  what 
should  be  my  first  consideration  —  her  health.  For 
Clinton  is  growing  no  better  rapidly.  To  be  hungry 
is  there  an  everyday  occurrence.  For  ten  days, 
mother  writes,   they  have    lived  off   just    hominy 

342 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

enough  to  keep  their  bodies  and  souls  from  parting, 
without  being  able  to  procure  another  article  —  not 
even  a  potato.  Mother  is  not  in  a  condition  to  stand 
such  privation ;  day  by  day  she  grows  weaker  on  her 
new  regimen ;  I  am  satisfied  that  two  months  more  of 
danger,  difficulties,  perplexities,  and  starvation  will 
lay  her  in  her  grave.  The  latter  alone  is  enough  to 
put  a  speedy  end  to  her  days.  Lilly  has  been  obliged 
to  put  her  children  to  bed  to  make  them  forget  they 
were  supperless,  and  when  she  followed  their  exam- 
ple, could  not  sleep  herself,  for  very  hunger. 

We  have  tried  in  vain  to  find  another  home  in  the 
Confederacy.  After  three  days  spent  in  searching 
Augusta,  Gibbes  wrote  that  it  was  impossible  to  find 
a  vacant  room  for  us,  as  the  city  was  already  crowded 
with  refugees.  A  kind  Providence  must  have  des- 
tined that  disappointment  in  order  to  save  my  life, 
if  there  is  any  reason  for  Colonel  Steadman's  fears. 
We  next  wrote  to  Mobile,  Brandon,  and  even  that 
horrid  little  Liberty,  besides  making  inquiries  of 
every  one  we  met,  while  Charlie,  too,  was  endeavor- 
ing to  find  a  place,  and  everywhere  received  the 
same  answer  —  not  a  vacant  room,  and  provisions 
hardly  to  be  obtained  at  all. 

The  question  has  now  resolved  itself  to  whether 
we  shall  see  mother  die  for  want  of  food  in  Clinton, 
or,  by  sacrificing  an  outward  show  of  patriotism  (the 
inward  sentiment  cannot  be  changed),  go  with  her  to 
New  Orleans,  as  Brother  begs  in  the  few  letters 
he  contrives  to  smuggle  through.     It  looks  simple 

343 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

enough.  Ought  not  mother's  life  to  be  our  first  con- 
sideration? Undoubtedly!  But  suppose  we  could 
preserve  her  life  and  our  free  sentiments  at  the  same 
time?  If  we  could  only  find  a  resting-place  in  the 
Confederacy !  This,  though,  is  impossible.  But  to  go 
to  New  Orleans;  to  cease  singing  "Dixie";  to  be 
obliged  to  keep  your  sentiments  to  yourself  —  for  I 
would  not  wound  Brother  by  any  Ultra- Secession 
speech,  and  such  could  do  me  no  good  and  only 
injure  him  —  if  he  is  as  friendly  with  the  Federals 
as  they  say  he  is;  to  listen  to  the  scurrilous  abuse 
heaped  on  those  fighting  for  our  homes  and  liberties, 
among  them  my  three  brothers  —  could  I  endure  it? 
I  fear  not.  Even  if  I  did  not  go  crazy,  I  would  grow 
so  restless,  homesick,  and  miserable,  that  I  would 
pray  for  even  Clinton  again.  Oh,  I  don't,  don't  want 
to  go !  If  mother  would  only  go  alone,  and  leave  us 
with  Lilly!  But  she  is  as  anxious  to  obtain  Dr. 
Stone's  advice  for  me  as  we  are  to  secure  her  a  com- 
fortable home;  and  I  won't  go  anywhere  without 
Miriam,  so  we  must  all  go  together.  Yet  there  is  no 
disguising  the  fact  that  such  a  move  will  place  us 
in  a  very  doubtful  position  to  both  friends  and  ene- 
mies. However,  all  our  friends  here  warmly  advo- 
cate the  move,  and  Will  Pinckney  and  Frank  both 
promised  to  knock  down  any  one  who  shrugged 
their  shoulders  and  said  anything  about  it.  But 
what  would  the  boys  say?  The  fear  of  displeasing 
them  is  my  chief  distress.  George  writes  in  the 
greatest  distress  about  my  prolonged  illness,  and  his 

344 


A^CONFEDERATE   GlRL'S    DlARY 

alarm  about  my  condition.  "Of  one  thing  I  am  sure," 
he  writes,  "and  that  is  that  she  deserves  to  recover; 
for  a  better  little  sister  never  lived."  God  bless  him! 
My  eyes  grew  right  moist  over  those  few  words. 
Loving  words  bring  tears  to  them  sooner  than  angry 
ones.  Would  he  object  to  such  a  step  when  he  knows 
that  the  very  medicines  necessary  for  my  recovery 
are  not  to  be  procured  in  the  whole  country?  Would 
he  rather  have  mother  dead  and  me  a  cripple,  in  the 
Confederacy,  than  both  well,  out  of  it?  I  feel  that  if 
we  go  we  are  wrong;  but  I  am  satisfied  that  it  is 
worse  to  stay.  It  is  a  distressing  dilemma  to  be 
placed  in,  as  we  are  certain  to  be  blamed  whichever 
course  we  pursue.  But  I  don't  want  to  go  to  New 
Orleans ! 

Before  I  had  time  to  lay  down  my  pen  this  eve- 
ning, General  Gardiner  and  Major  Wilson  were  an- 
nounced ;  and  I  had  to  perform  a  hasty  toilette  before 
being  presentable.  The  first  remark  of  the  General 
was  that  my  face  recalled  many  pleasant  recollec- 
tions; that  he  had  known  my  family  very  well,  but 
that  time  was  probably  beyond  my  recollection ;  and 
he  went  on  talking  about  father  and  Lavinia,  until  I 
felt  quite  comfortable,  with  this  utter  stranger.  .  .  . 
I  would  prefer  his  speaking  of  "our"  recent  success 
at  Port  Hudson  to  "my" ;  for  we  each,  man,  woman, 
and  child,  feel  that  we  share  the  glory  of  sinking  the 
gunboats  and  sending  Banks  back  to  Baton  Rouge 
without  venturing  on  an  attack ;  and  it  seemed  odd 
to  hear  any  one  assume  the  responsibility  of  the 

345 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

whole  affair  and  say  "my  success"  so  unconsciously. 
But  this  may  be  the  privilege  of  generals.  I  am  no 
judge,  as  this  is  the  first  Confederate  general  I  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing.  Wish  it  had  been  old 
Stonewall!  I  grow  enthusiastic  every  time  I  think 
of  the  dear  old  fellow ! 

I  am  indebted  to  General  Gardiner  for  a  great 
piece  of  kindness,  though.  I  was  telling  him  of  how 
many  enemies  he  had  made  among  the  ladies  by  his 
strict  regulations  that  now  rendered  it  almost  im- 
possible for  the  gentlemen  to  obtain  permission  to 
call  on  them,  when  he  told  me  if  I  would  signify  to 
my  friends  to  mention  when  they  applied  that  their 
visit  was  to  be  here,  and  not  elsewhere,  that  he 
would  answer  for  their  having  a  pass  whenever  they 
called  for  one.  Merci  du  compliment;  mats  c'est 
trop  tard,  Monsieur ! 

Tuesday,  April  7th. 

I  believe  that  it  is  for  true  that  we  are  to  leave  for 
New  Orleans,  via  Clinton  and  Ponchatoula,  this 
evening.  Clinton,  at  least,  I  am  sure  of.  Lilly  came 
down  for  me  yesterday,  and  according  to  the  present 
programme,  though  I  will  not  answer  for  it  in  an 
hour  from  now,  we  leave  Linwood  this  evening,  and 
Clinton  on  Thursday.  I  am  almost  indifferent  about 
our  destination;  my  chief  anxiety  is  to  have  some 
definite  plans  decided  on,  which  seems  perfectly 
impossible  from  the  number  of  times  they  are 
changed  a  day.  The  uncertainty  is  really  affecting 
my  spine,  and  causing  me  to  grow  alarmingly  thin. . . . 

346 


JUDGE  THOMAS    GIBBES    MORGAN 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Wednesday,  Clinton,  April  8th,  1863. 

Our  last  adieux  are  said,  and  Lin  wood  is  left  be- 
hind, "it  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be  forever." 
My  last  hours  were  spent  lying  on  the  sofa  on  the 
gallery,  with  Lydia  at  my  feet,  Helen  Carter  sitting 
on  the  floor  at  my  side,  while  all  the  rest  were  gath- 
ered around  me  as  I  played  for  the  last  time  "the 
centre  of  attraction."  I  grew  almost  lachrymose  as  I 
bid  a  last  adieu  to  the  bed  where  I  have  spent  so 
many  months,  as  they  carried  me  downstairs. 
Wonder  if  it  will  not  miss  me?  It  must  have  been 
at  least  five  before  the  cars  returned.  Mrs.  Carter 
grew  quite  pathetic  as  they  approached,  while  poor 
little  Lydia,  with  streaming  eyes  and  choking  sobs, 
clung  first  to  Miriam  and  then  to  me,  as  though  we 
parted  to  meet  only  in  eternity.  All  except  her 
mother  started  in  a  run  for  the  big  gate,  while  I  was 
carried  to  the  buggy  through  the  group  of  servants 
gathered  to  say  good-bye,  when  the  General  drove 
me  off  rapidly. 

What  a  delightful  sensation  is  motion,  after  five 
months'  inaction!  The  last  time  I  was  in  a  vehicle 
was  the  night  General  Beale's  ambulance  brought 
me  to  Linwood  a  helpless  bundle,  last  November. 
It  seemed  to  me  yesterday  that  I  could  again  feel 
the  kind  gentleman's  arm  supporting  me,  and  his 
wondering,  sympathetic  tone  as  he  repeated  every 
half-mile,  "Really,  Miss  Morgan,  you  are  very  pa- 
tient and  uncomplaining!"  Good,  kind  President 
Miller!  As  though  all  the  trouble  was  not  his,  just 

347 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

then!  But  stopping  at  the  gate  roused  me  from  my 
short  reverie,  and  I  opened  my  eyes  to  find  myself 
stationary,  and  in  full  view  of  a  train  of  cars  loaded 
with  soldiers,  literally  covered  with  them;  for  they 
covered  the  roof,  as  well  as  filled  the  interior,  while 
half  a  dozen  open  cars  held  them,  seated  one  above 
the  other  in  miniature  pyramids,  and  even  the  en- 
gine was  graced  by  their  presence.  Abashed  with 
finding  myself  confronted  with  so  many  people,  my 
sensation  became  decidedly  alarming  as  a  dozen  rude 
voices  cried,  "Go  on!  we  won't  stop!"  and  a  cho- 
rus of  the  opposition  cried,  "Yes,  we  will ! "  "  No ! " 
"Yes!"  they  cried  in  turn,  and  as  the  General  stood 
me  on  the  ground  (I  would  have  walked  if  it  had 
been  my  last  attempt  in  life),  I  paused  irresolute,  not 
knowing  whether  to  advance  or  retreat  before  the 
storm.  I  must  say  they  are  the  only  rude  soldiers 
I  have  yet  seen  in  Confederate  uniforms.  But  as  I 
walked  slowly,  clinging  to  the  General's  arm,  half 
from  fear,  and  half  from  weakness,  they  ceased  the  un- 
necessary dispute,  and  remained  so  quiet  that  I  was 
more  frightened  still,  and  actually  forgot  to  say  good- 
bye to  Mrs.  Carter  and  Mrs.  Worley  as  they  stood 
by  the  road.  How  both  the  General  and  I  escaped 
being  hurt  as  he  raised  me  on  the  platform,  every 
one  is  at  a  loss  to  account  for.  I  experienced  only 
what  may  be  called  slight  pain,  in  comparison  to 
what  I  have  felt;  but  really  fear  that  the  exertion  has 
disabled  him  for  to-day.  It  must  have  been  very  se- 
vere. Some  officers  led  me  to  my  seat,  Lilly,  Miriam, 

348 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  Anna  got  in,  the  General  kissed  us  heartily, 
with  damp  eyes  and  kind  wishes;  the  cars  gave  a 
whistle,  and  I  put  my  head  out  of  the  window  to  see 
Mrs.  Carter  industriously  applying  white  cambric  to 
her  face,  which  occupation  she  relinquished  to  call 
out  last  good-byes;  another  whistle  and  a  jerk,  and 
we  were  off,  leaving  her  and  Mrs.  Worley,  sur- 
rounded by  children  and  servants,  using  their  hand- 
kerchiefs to  wipe  tears  and  wave  farewell,  while  the 
General  waved  his  hat  for  good-bye.  Then  green 
hedges  rapidly  changing  took  their  place,  and  Lin- 
wood  was  out  of  sight  before  we  had  ceased  saying 
and  thinking,  God  bless  the  kind  hearts  we  had  left 
behind.  Can  I  ever  forget  the  kindness  we  have  met 
among  them? 

To  see  green  trees  and  wild  flowers  once  more, 
after  such  an  illness,  is  a  pleasure  that  only  those 
long  deprived  of  such  beauties  by  a  similar  misfor- 
tune can  fully  appreciate. 

It  was  a  relief  to  discover  that  what  I  had  thought 
shocking  rudeness  in  the  soldiers  had  not  been  re- 
served for  me  alone.  For  every  time  we  stopped,  the 
same  cry  of  "No  waiting  for  slow  people"  was 
raised,  varied  by  constant  expostulations  with  the 
engine  for  drinking  ponds  dry,  and  mild  suggestions 
as  to  taking  the  road  the  other  side  of  the  fence, 
which  would  no  doubt  prove  smoother  than  the 
track.  These  Arkansas  troops  have  acquired  a  repu- 
tation for  roughness  and  ignorance  which  they  seem 
to  cultivate  as  assiduously  as  most  people  would 

349 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

their  virtues.    But  rudeness  does  not  affect  their 
fighting  qualities. 

Madisonville,  Sunday,  April  12th,  1863. 

We  arrived  here  about  five  last  evening,  and, 
strange  to  say,  the  journey,  fatiguing  as  it  was,  has 
not  altogether  disabled  me.  But  I  must  go  back  to 
Clinton  to  account  for  this  new  change.  It  would 
never  do  to  take  more  than  a  hundred  miles  at  a 
single  jump  without  speaking  of  the  incidents  by  the 
way.  Numerous  and  pleasant  as  they  were,  some 
way  they  have  unaccountably  paled;  and  things 
that  seemed  so  extremely  amusing,  and  afforded  me 
so  much  pleasure  during  these  four  days,  now  seem 
to  be  absurd  trifles  half  forgotten. 

I  now  remember  lying  in  state  on  Lilly's  bed 
Wednesday,  talking  to  Mrs.  Badger  (who  had  been 
several  days  in  town),  Anna,  Sarah  Ripley,  and  the 
others,  when  Frank  suddenly  bolted  in,  just  from 
Port  Hudson,  to  say  another  good-bye,  though  I  told 
him  good-bye  at  Linwood  Sunday.  Presently  the 
General  entered,  just  from  Linwood,  to  see  us  off; 
then  Mr.  Marston  and  his  daughter,  and  Mr. 
Neafus,  all  as  kind  as  possible,  until  a  perfect  levee 
was  assembled,  which  I,  lying  all  dressed  with  a 
shawl  thrown  over  me,  enjoyed  all  the  more  as  I 
could  take  my  ease,  and  have  my  fun  at  the  same 
time.  Frank,  sitting  by  my  pillow,  talked  dolorously 
of  how  much  he  would  miss  us,  and  threatened  to  be 
taken  prisoner  before  long  in  order  to  see  us  again. 

350 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

When  we  were  finally  left  alone,  I  fancy  there  was 
very  little  sleep  in  the  house.  As  to  me,  I  lay  by  Lilly 
wide  awake,  thinking  how  lonely  she  would  be  with- 
out us,  and  perfectly  desolie  at  the  idea  of  leaving  the 
Confederacy  (the  dear  gray  coats  included) ;  so  when 
it  was  almost  sunrise  there  was  no  necessity  of  rous- 
ing me  to  dress,  as  I  was  only  too  glad  to  leave  my 
sleepless  bed.  Before  I  got  dressed,  Anna,  her  mother, 
and  Sarah  Ripley  came  in  again;  then  Miss  Corn- 
stock;  and  just  as  I  had  put  the  last  touch  to  my 
dress,  the  gentlemen  of  the  night  before  entered,  and 
we  had  almost  an  hour  and  a  half's  respite  before 
the  carriage,  less  punctual  than  we,  drove  to  the 
door. 

The  General  picked  me  up  in  his  arms  and  carried 
me  once  more  to  the  carriage.  Then  the  servants 
had  to  say  good-bye;  then  Lilly,  very  quiet,  very 
red,  and  dissolved  in  tears,  clung  to  me  almost  with- 
out a  word,  hardly  able  to  speak,  whilst  I,  distressed 
and  grieved  as  I  was,  had  not  a  tear  in  my  eyes  — 
nothing  but  a  great  lump  in  my  throat  that  I  tried 
to  choke  down  in  order  to  talk  to  Frank,  who  stood 
at  the  window  by  me,  after  she  left.  .  .  .  How  the 
distance  lengthens  between  us!  I  raise  up  from  my 
pillows  and  find  myself  at  Camp  Moore  at  four 
o'clock.  Forty  miles  are  passed  over;  good-bye, 
Frank ! 

From  Camp  Moore  we  had  to  go  three  miles  back, 
to  find  Captain  Gilman's  house  where  we  were  ex- 

35i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

pected.  The  gentleman  is  a  friend  of  Gibbes,  though 
I  had  never  seen  any  of  them  before.  Such  a  delight- 
ful place,  with  everything  looking  so  new,  and  cool, 
and  such  a  hospitable  hostess  that  I  thought  every- 
thing charming  in  spite  of  my  fatigue.  <  I*had  hardly 
a  moment  to  look  around ;  for  immediately  we  were 
shown  to  our  rooms,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes 
Miriam  had  me  undressed  and  in  bed,  the  most 
delightful  spot  in  the  world  to  me  just  then.  While 
congratulating  myself  on  having  escaped  death  on 
the  roadside,  I  opened  my  eyes  to  behold  a  tray 
brought  to  my  bedside  with  a  variety  of  refresh- 
ments. Coffee!  Bread!  Loaf-sugar!  Preserves!  I 
opened  my  mouth  to  make  an  exclamation  at  the 
singular  optical  illusion,  but  wisely  forbore  speaking, 
and  shut  it  with  some  of  the  unheard-of  delicacies 
instead.  .  .  . 

Early  next  morning  the  same  routine  was  gone 
through  as  Thursday  morning.  Again  the  carriage 
drove  to  the  door,  and  we  were  whisked  off  to  Camp 
Moore,  where  the  engine  stood  snorting  with  impa- 
tience to  hurry  us  off  to  Ponchatoula.  .  .  .  Soon  we 
were  steaming  down  the  track,  I  reclining  on  my 
pillows  in  an  interesting  state  of  invalidism,  sadly 
abashed  now  and  then  at  the  courteous,  wondering 
gaze  of  the  soldiers  who  were  aboard.  Having  very 
little  idea  of  the  geography  of  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try, and  knowing  we  were  to  take  a  carriage  from 
some  point  this  side  of  Ponchatoula,  fancying  how 
surprised  Mr.  Halsey  would  be  to  hear  we  had 

352 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary' 

passed  him  on  the  way,  I  took  a  card  from  my  travel- 
ing-case, and  wrote  a  few  words  for  "good-bye," 
as  we  could  not  see  him  again.  I  sealed  it  up,  and 
put  it  in  my  pocket  to  send  to  the  first  post-office  we 
passed. 

About  twelve  o'clock  we  stopped  at  Hammond, 
which  was  our  place  to  disembark.  Mother  sent  out 
to  hire  a  negro  to  carry  me  off  the  platform ;  and  while 
waiting  in  great  perplexity,  a  young  officer  who  had 
just  seated  himself  before  me,  got  up  and  asked  if  he 
could  assist  her,  seizing  an  arm  full  of  cloaks  as  he 
spoke.  I  got  up  and  walked  to  the  door  to  appear 
independent  and  make  believe  I  was  not  the  one, 
when  mother  begged  him  not  to  trouble  himself;  she 
wanted  a  man  to  assist  her  daughter  who  was  sick. 
Calling  a  friend,  the  gentleman  kindly  loaded  him 
with  the  cloaks,  etc.,  while  he  hurried  out  after  me. 
I  was  looking  ruefully  at  the  impracticable  step 
which  separated  me  from  the  platform.  The  ques- 
tion of  how  I  was  to  carry  out  my  independent  no- 
tions began  to  perplex  me.  "Allow  me  to  assist  you," 
said  a  voice  at  my  elbow.  I  turned  and  beheld  the 
handsome  officer.  "Thank  you;  I  think  I  can  get 
down  alone."  "Pray  allow  me  to  lift  you  over  this 
place."  "Much  obliged,  but  your  arm  will  suffice." 
"Sarah,  let  the  gentleman  carry  you !  You  know  you 
cannot  walk!"  said  my  very  improper  mother.  I 
respectfully  declined  the  renewed  offer.  "  Don't  pay 
any  attention  to  her.  Pick  her  up,  just  as  you  would 
a  child,"  said  my  incorrigible  mother.  The  gentle- 

353 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

man  turned  very  red,  while  Miriam  asserts  I  turned 
extremely  white.  The  next  thing  I  knew,  by  passing 
his  arm  around  my  waist,  or  taking  me  by  my  arms 
—  I  was  so  frightened  that  I  have  but  a  confused 
idea  of  it  —  I  was  lifted  over  the  intervening  gulf 
and  landed  on  the  platform! 

Hammond  boasts  of  four  houses.  One,  a  shoe 
manufactory,  stood  about  twenty  or  thirty  yards  off, 
and  there  the  gentleman  proposed  to  conduct  me. 
Again  he  insisted  on  carrying  me;  and  resolutely 
refusing,  I  pronounced  myself  fully  equal  to  the 
walk,  and  accepting  his  proffered  arm,  walked  off 
with  dignity  and  self-possession.  He  must  have 
fancied  that  the  injury  was  in  my  hand;  for  holding 
my  arm  so  that  my  entire  weight  must  have  been 
thrown  on  him,  not  satisfied  with  that  support,  with 
his  other  hand  he  held  mine  so  respectfully  and  so 
carefully  that  I  could  not  but  smile  as  it  struck 
me,  which,  by  the  way,  was  not  until  I  reached  the 
house  ! 

Discovering  that  he  belonged  to  Colonel  Simon- 
ton's  command,  I  asked  him  to  take  Mr.  Halsey  the 
note  I  had  written  an  hour  before.  He  pronounced 
himself  delighted  to  be  of  the  slightest  service,  and 
seeing  that  we  were  strangers,  traveling  unpro- 
tected, asked  if  we  had  secured  a  conveyance  to 
take  us  beyond.  We  told  him  no.  He  modestly  sug- 
gested that  some  gentleman  might  attend  to  it  for 
us.  He  would  be  happy  to  do  anything  in  his  power. 
I  thought  again  of  Mr.  Halsey,  and  said  if  he  would 

354 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

mention  we  were  in  Hammond,  he  would  be  kind 
enough  to  see  to  it  for  us.  " May  I  ask  your  name?" 
he  asked,  evidently  surprised  to  find  himself  asking  a 
question  he  was  dying  to  know.  I  gave  him  my  card, 
whereupon  mother  asked  his  name,  which  he  told 
us  was  Howard.  We  had  been  talking  for  some  ten 
minutes,  when  feeling  rather  uncomfortable  at  being 
obliged  to  look  up  at  such  a  tall  man  from  my  low 
seat,  to  relieve  my  neck  as  well  as  to  shade  my  face 
from  any  further  scrutiny,  I  put  down  my  head  while 
I  was  still  speaking.  Instantly,  so  quietly,  naturally, 
and  unobtrusively  did  he  stoop  down  by  me,  on  one 
knee  so  that  his  face  was  in  full  view  of  mine,  that 
the  action  did  not  seem  to  me  either  singular  or  im- 
pertinent — in  fact,  I  did  not  think  of  it  until  mother 
spoke  of  it  after  he  left.  After  a  few  moments  it 
must  have  struck  him ;  for  he  got  up  and  made  his 
parting  bow,  departing,  as  I  afterwards  heard,  to 
question  Tiche  as  to  how  I  had  been  hurt,  and  de- 
claring that  it  was  a  dreadful  calamity  to  happen  to 

so  "lovely  "  a  young  lady. 

Monday,  April  13th. 

Having  nothing  to  do,  I  may  as  well  go  on  with  the 
history  of  our  wanderings.  When  the  cars  were  mov- 
ing off  with  the  handsome  Mr.  Howard,  mother 
turned  to  a  gentleman  who  seemed  to  own  the  place, 
and  asked  to  be  shown  the  hotel.  He  went  out,  and 
presently  returning  with  a  chair  and  two  negroes, 
quietly  said  he  would  take  us  to  his  own  house;  the 
hotel  was  not  comfortable.   And,  without  listening 

355 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  remonstrances,  led  the  way  to  a  beautiful  little 
cottage,  where  he  introduced  his  wife,  Mrs.  Cate, 
who  received  us  most  charmingly,  and  had  me  in  bed 
before  five  minutes  had  elapsed.  I  don't  know  how 
any  one  can  believe  the  whole  world  so  wicked ;  for 
my  part  I  have  met  none  but  the  kindest  people 
imaginable;  I  don't  know  any  wicked  ones. 

Before  half  an  hour  had  passed,  a  visitor  was  an- 
nounced ;  so  I  gathered  up  my  weary  bones,  and  with 
scarcely  a  peep  at  the  glass,  walked  to  the  parlor.  I 
commenced  laughing  before  I  got  there,  and  the  visi- 
tor smiled  most  absurdly,  too ;  for  it  was  —  Mr.  Hal- 
sey!  It  seemed  so  queer  to  meet  in  this  part  of  the 
world  that  we  laughed  again  after  shaking  hands. 
It  was  odd.  I  was  thinking  how  much  amused  the 
General  would  be  to  hear  of  it ;  for  he  had  made  a  bet 
that  we  would  meet  when  I  asserted  that  we  would 
not. 

After  the  first  few  remarks,  he  told  me  of  how  he 
had  heard  of  our  arrival.  A  gentleman  had  walked 
into  camp,  asking  if  a  Mr.  Halsey  was  there.  He 
signified  that  he  was  the  gentleman,  whereupon  the 
other  drew  out  my  note,  saying  a  young  lady  on  the 
cars  had  requested  him  to  deliver  it.  Instantly 
recognizing  the  chirography,  he  asked  where  I  was. 
"Hammond.  This  is  her  name,"  replied  the  other, 
extending  to  him  my  card.  Thinking,  as  he  modestly 
confessed,  that  I  had  intended  it  only  for  him,  Mr. 
Halsey  coolly  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and  called  for 
his  horse.    Mr.  Howard  lingered  still,  apparently 

356 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

having  something  to  say,  which  he  found  difficult  to 
put  in  words.  At  last,  as  the  other  prepared  to 
ride  off,  with  a  tremendous  effort  he  managed  to  say, 
"The  young  lady's  card  is  mine.  If  it  is  all  the  same 
to  you,  I  should  like  to  have  it  returned."  Apologiz- 
ing for  the  mistake,  Mr.  Halsey  returned  it,  feeling 
rather  foolish,  I  should  imagine,  and  rode  on  to  the 
village,  leaving,  as  he  avers,  Mr.  Howard  looking 
enviously  after  the  lucky  dog  who  was  going  to  see 
such  a  young  lady. 

He  told  me  something  that  slightly  disgusted  me 
with  Captain  Bradford.  It  was  that  when  he  reached 
the  bivouac  the  next  morning  after  leaving  Lin  wood, 
the  Captain  had  put  him  under  arrest  for  having 
stayed  there  all  night.  It  was  too  mean,  considering 
that  it  is  more  than  probable  that  he  himself  re- 
mained at  Mrs.  Fluker's.  We  discovered,  too,  that 
we  had  missed  two  letters  Mr.  Halsey  had  written 
us,  which,  of  course,  is  a  great  disappointment.  One, 
written  to  both,  the  other,  a  short  note  of  ten  pages, 
for  me,  which  I  am  sure  was  worth  reading. 

It  was  not  until  after  sunset  that  we  exhausted  all 
topics  of  conversation,  and  Mr.  Halsey  took  his 
leave,  promising  to  see  us  in  the  morning. 

And,  to  be  sure,  as  soon  as  I  was  dressed  on  Satur- 
day, he  again  made  his  appearance,  followed  soon 
after  by  the  carriage.  Taking  a  cordial  leave  of  Mrs. 
Cate,  with  many  thanks  for  her  hospitality,  we 
entered  our  conveyance,  and  with  Mr.  Halsey  riding 
by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  went  on  our  way.  He  was 

357 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

to  accompany  us  only  as  far  as  Ponchatoula  —  some 
six  miles;  but  the  turning-point  in  his  journey  seemed 
to  be  an  undetermined  spot ;  for  mile  after  mile  rolled 
away  —  rather  the  wheels  rolled  over  them  —  and 
still  he  rode  by  us,  talking  through  the  window,  and 
the  sprays  of  wild  flowers  he  would  pick  for  me  from 
time  to  time  were  growing  to  quite  a  bouquet,  when 
he  proposed  an  exchange  with  the  farmer  who  was 
driving  us,  and,  giving  him  his  horse,  took  the  reins 
himself. 

I  think  Miriam  and  I  will  always  remember  that 
ride.  The  laughter,  the  conversation,  the  songs  with 
the  murmuring  accompaniment  of  the  wheels,  and  a 
thousand  incidents  pleasant  to  remember  though 
foolish  to  speak  of,  will  always  form  a  delightful 
tableau  in  our  recollections.  I  have  but  one  disagree- 
able impression  to  remember  in  connection  with  the 
trip,  and  that  occurred  at  a  farmhouse  two  miles  from 
here,  where  we  stopped  to  get  strawberries.  I  pre- 
ferred remaining  in  the  carriage,  to  the  trouble  of 
getting  out;  so  all  went  in,  Mr.  Halsey  dividing  his 
time  equally  between  Miriam  in  the  house  and  me  in 
the  carriage,  supplying  me  with  violets  and  pensees 
one  moment,  and  the  next  showing  me  the  most 
tempting  strawberries  at  the  most  provoking  dis- 
tance, assuring  me  they  were  exquisite.  The  individ- 
ual to  whom  the  carriage  belonged,  who  had  given 
up  the  reins  to  Mr.  Halsey,  and  who,  no  doubt,  was 
respectable  enough  for  his  class  in  his  part  of  the 
country,  would  allow  no  one  to  bring  me  my  straw- 

358 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

berries,  reserving  the  honor  for  himself.  Presently  he 
appeared  with  a  large  saucer  of  them  covered  with 
cream.  I  was  naturally  thankful,  but  would  have  pre- 
ferred his  returning  to  the  house  after  he  had  fulfilled 
his  mission.  Instead,  he  had  the  audacity  to  express 
his  admiration  of  my  personal  appearance;  with- 
out a  pause  gave  me  a  short  sketch  of  his  history, 
informed  me  he  was  a  widower,  and  very  anxious  to 
marry  again,  and  finally,  —  Lares  and  Penates  of  the 
house  of  Morgan  ap  Kerrig,  veil  your  affronted 
brows  !  You  will  scarcely  credit  that  the  creature  had 
the  insolence  to  say  that  —  he  would  marry  me  to- 
morrow, if  he  could,  and  think  himself  blessed;  for 
the  jewel  of  the  soul  must  be  equal  to  the  casket  that 
contained  it!  Yes!  this  brute  of  a  man  had  the 
unparalleled  audacity  to  speak  to  me  in  such  a  way ! 
Just  then,  mother,  remembering  her  invalid,  came 
to  the  gallery  and  asked  how  I  was  enjoying  my 
lunch.  ' '  I  'm  courting  her ! ' '  cried  the  wretch.  ' '  Glad 
she  did  not  go  in !  Swear  she 's  the  prettiest  girl  I  ever 
saw! "  At  that  moment  Mr.  Halsey  came  sauntering 
out  with  a  handful  of  violets  for  me,  and,  turning  my 
shoulder  to  the  creature,  I  entered  into  a  lively  dis- 
cussion with  him,  and  at  last  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  the  wretch  enter  the  house. 

A  drive  through  the  straggling,  half-deserted  town 
brought  us  here  to  Mrs.  Greyson's,  a  large,  old-fash- 
ioned-looking house  so  close  to  the  Tchefuncta  (I 
think  that  is  the  name  of  the  river)  that  I  could  throw 
a  stone  in  it  from  my  bed,  almost. 

359 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Mrs.  Greyson  herself  would  require  two  or  three 
pages  to  do  her  justice.  Fancy  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Francis  Searle,  the  widow  of  General  Greyson,  the 
belle  of  New  Orleans  in  her  young  days,  settled 
down  into  a  hotel-keeper  on  a  small  scale,  with  stately 
ladies  and  gentlemen  looking  down  in  solemn  sur- 
prise at  her  boarders  from  their  rich  portrait  frames 
on  the  parlor  wall!  Fallen  greatness  always  gives 
me  an  uncomfortable  thrill.  Yet  here  was  the  heiress 
of  these  shadows  on  the  wall,  gay,  talkative,  bus- 
tling, active;  with  a  word  of  caution,  or  a  word  of 
advice  to  all;  polite,  attentive,  agreeable  to  her 
guests,  quarreling  and  exacting  with  her  servants, 
grasping  and  avaricious  with  all;  singing  a  piece 
from  "  Norma  "  in  a  voice,  about  the  size  of  a  thread 
No.  150,  that  showed  traces  of  former  excellence;  or 
cheapening  a  bushel  of  corn  meal  with  equal  volu- 
bility. What  a  character!  Full  of  little  secrets  and 
mysteries.  "  Now,  my  dear,  I  don't  ask  you  to  tell  a 
story,  you  know;  but  if  the  others  ask  you  if  you 
knew  it,  just  look  surprised  and  say,  'Oh,  dear  me, 
when  did  it  happen? '  'Cause  I  promised  not  to  tell ; 
only  you  are  such  favorites  that  I  could  not  help  it, 
and  it  would  not  do  to  acknowledge  it.  And  if  any  one 
asks  you  if  I  put  these  candles  in  here,  just  say  you 
brought  them  with  you,  that's  a  love,  because  they 
will  be  jealous,  as  I  only  allow  them  lamps."  Eccen- 
tric Mrs.  Greyson !  Many  an  hour's  amusement  did 
she  afford  me.1 

1  This  paragraph,  which  occurs  retrospectively  in  the  Diary  under 

360 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

A  ride  of  twenty-six  miles  bolt  upright  in  the  car- 
riage, over  such  bad  roads,  had  almost  used  me  up ; 
I  retired  to  bed  in  a  state  of  collapse,  leaving  Miriam 
to  entertain  Mr.  Halsey  alone.  After  supper,  though, 
I  managed  to  put  on  my  prettiest  dress,  and  be  car- 
ried down  to  the  parlor  where  I  rejoined  the  rest. 
Several  strange  ladies  were  present,  one  of  whom  has 
since  afforded  me  a  hearty  laugh.  She  was  a  horrid- 
looking  woman,  and  ten  minutes  after  I  entered, 
crossing  the  room  with  a  most  laughable  look  of  vul- 
garity attempting  to  ape  righteous  scorn,  jerked 
some  articles  of  personal  property  from  the  table  and 
retired  with  the  sweep  of  a  small  hurricane.  I  thought 
her  an  eccentric  female;  but  what  was  my  amaze- 
ment yesterday  to  hear  that  she  sought  Mrs.  Grey- 
son,  told  her  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  stay  among 
so  many  elegantly  dressed  ladies,  and  that  she  pre- 
ferred keeping  her  room.  Next  day,  she  told  her  that 
she  was  entirely  too  attentive  to  us,  and  rather  than 
be  neglected  in  that  way  for  other  people,  would 
leave  the  house,  which  she  did  instantly. 

There  was  a  singular  assembly  of  odd  characters 
in  the  parlor  Saturday  night,  six  of  whom  looked  as 
though  they  were  but  so  many  reflections  of  the  same 
individual  in  different  glasses,  and  the  seventh  dif- 
fered from  the  rest  only  in  playing  exquisitely  on  the 
banjo  —  "Too  well  to  be  a  gentleman,"  T  fear. 
These  were  soldiers,  come  to  "call"  on  us.   Half  an 

date  of  New  Orleans,  Sunday,  May  24th,  1863,  is  inserted  here  for  the 
sake  of  clearness.  —  W.  D. 

36l 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

hour  after  we  arrived,  a  dozen  of  them  took  posses- 
sion of  the  bench  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  one  with 
his  banjo  who  played  and  sang  delightfully.  Old  Mrs. 
Greyson,  who  is  rather  eccentric,  called,  "Ah,  Mr. 

J !  Have  you  heard  already  of  the  arrival  of  the 

young  ladies?  You  never  serenaded  me  I "  The  young 
man  naturally  looked  foolish;  so  she  went  out  and 
asked  him  to  come  around  after  dark  and  play  for 
the  young  ladies.  So  after  a  while  he  came,  "bring- 
ing six  devils  yet  worse  than  himself,"  as  the  old 
Scriptural  phrase  has  it,  all  of  whom  sat  on  the  same 
side  of  the  room,  and  looked  at  us  steadily  when  they 
thought  we  were  not  looking.  All  had  the  same  voice, 
the  same  bow,  the  same  manner  —  that  is  to  say 
none  at  all  of  the  latter ;  one  introduced  an  agreeable 
variety,  saying  as  he  bowed  to  each  separately, 
"Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  ma'am."  Mr. 
Halsey  just  managed  to  keep  his  face  straight,  while 
I  longed  for  a  Dickens  to  put  them  all  together  and 
make  one  amusing  picture  out  of  the  seven.  I 
troubled  myself  very  little  about  them,  preferring 
Mr.  Halsey's  company,  not  knowing  when  we  would 
meet  again.  It  would  not  have  been  quite  fair  to 
leave  him  to  himself  after  he  had  ridden  such  a  dis- 
tance for  us ;  so  I  generously  left  the  seven  to  Miriam, 
content  with  one,  and  rather  think  I  had  the  best 
of  the  bargain.  The  one  with  the  banjo  suggested 
that  we  should  sing  for  them  before  he  played  for  us, 
so  Miriam  played  on  the  piano,  and  sang  with  me  on 
the  guitar  half  a  dozen  songs,  and  then  the  other 

362 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

commenced.  I  don't  know  when  I  have  been  more 
amused.  There  was  an  odd,  piney-woods  dash  about 
him  that  was  exceedingly  diverting,  and  he  went 
through  comic,  sentimental,  and  original  songs  with 
an  air  that  showed  his  whole  heart  was  in  it.  Judg- 
ing from  the  number  of  youth  too  timid  to  venture 
in,  who  peeped  at  us  from  the  windows,  I  should  say 
that  young  ladies  are  curiosities  just  now  in  Madi- 
sonville. 

Tuesday,  April  14th. 

Ah !  another  delightful  glimpse  of  society  has  been 
offered  to  our  charmed  view.  Such  a  treat  has  not 
often  fallen  to  our  lot.  Good  Mrs.  Greyson,  in  her 
anxiety  to  make  all  around  her  happy,  determined 
we  should  have  a  dance.  I  should  say  ''Miriam"; 
for  Mrs.  Bull  and  Mrs.  Ivy  never  indulge  in  such 
amusements,  and  I  can't;  so  it  must  have  been  for 
Miriam  alone.  Such  a  crew!  The  two  ladies  above 
mentioned  and  I  almost  laughed  ourselves  into  hys- 
terics. Poor  Miriam,  with  a  tall,  slender  Texan  who 
looked  as  though  he  had  chopped  wood  all  his  life, 
moved  through  the  dance  like  the  lady  in  "  Comus  " ; 
only,  now  and  then  a  burst  of  laughter  at  the  odd 
mistakes  threatened  to  overcome  her  dignity.  We 
who  were  fortunately  exempt  from  the  ordeal, 
laughed  unrestrainedly  at  the  melee.  One  danced 
entirely  with  his  arms ;  his  feet  had  very  little  to  do 
with  the  time.  One  hopped  through  with  a  most 
dolorous  expression  of  intense  absorption  in  the  ar- 
duous task.     Another  never  changed  a  benign  smile 

363 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

that  had  appeared  on  entering,  but  preserved  it 
unimpaired  through  every  accident.  One  female, 
apparently  of  the  tender  age  of  thirty,  wore  a  yellow 
muslin,  with  her  hair  combed  rigidly  d,  la  chinoise, 
and  tightly  fastened  at  the  back  of  her  head  in  a  knot 
whose  circumference  must  have  been  fully  equal  to 
that  of  a  dollar.  In  addition  to  other  charms,  she 
bore  her  neck  and  chin  in  a  very  peculiar  manner,  as 
though  she  were  looking  over  the  fence,  Mr.  Christ- 
mas remarked.  Mr.  Christmas  had  ridden  all  the  way 
from  Ponchatoula  to  see  us,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
him,  Mr.  Worthington,  and  Dr.  Capdevielle,  who 
came  in  after  a  while,  I  think  I  should  have  expired, 
and  even  Miriam  would  have  given  up  in  despair. 
The  Doctor  was  an  old  friend  of  Harry's,  though  we 

never  met  him  before. 

Thursday,  April  16th. 

Mr.  Halsey  brought  us  each  a  little  tortoise-shell 
ring  he  had  made  for  us  by  his  camp-fire,  as  a  keep- 
sake, and  of  course  we  promised  to  wear  them  for 
him,  particularly  as  they  make  our  hands  look  as 
white  as  possible.  Towards  sunset,  in  spite  of  prayers 
and  entreaties  from  Miriam,  who  insisted  that  I  was 
too  feeble  to  attempt  it,  I  insisted  on  walking  out  to 
the  bench  by  the  river  to  enjoy  the  cool  breeze ;  and 
was  rather  glad  I  had  come,  when  soon  after  Dr. 
Capdevielle  made  his  appearance,  with  two  beauti- 
ful bouquets  which  he  presented  with  his  French 
bow  to  us;  and  introducing  his  friend,  Mr.  Milton- 
berger,  entered  into  one  of  those  lively  discussions 

364 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

about  nothing  which  Frenchmen  know  how  to  make 
so  interesting.  .  .  . 

No  sooner  had  they  left  than,  to  our  infinite  sur- 
prise, the  immortal  seven  of  Saturday  night  walked 
in.  Wonder  what  fun  they  find  in  coming?  I  see 
none.  For  we  rarely  trouble  ourselves  about  their 
presence;  there  are  but  two  I  have  addressed  as  yet; 
one  because  I  am  forced  to  say  yes  or  no  to  his  re- 
marks, and  the  other  because  I  like  his  banjo,  which 
he  brought  again,  and  feel  obliged  to  talk  occasion- 
ally since  he  is  so  accommodating,  and  affords  me  the 
greatest  amusement  with  his  comic  songs.  I  was 
about  retiring  unceremoniously  about  twelve  o'clock, 
completely  worn  out,  when  they  finally  bethought 
themselves  of  saying  good-night,  and  saved  me  the 
necessity  of  being  rude.  Wonder  if  that  is  all  the  fun 
they  have?  I  should  say  it  was  rather  dry.  It  is 
mean  to  laugh  at  them,  though ;  their  obliging  dispo- 
sitions should  save  them  from  our  ridicule.  Last 
evening  Mr.  Halsey  succeeded  in  procuring  a  large 
skiff,  whereupon  four  or  five  of  them  offered  to  row, 
and  took  us  'way  down  the  Tchef uncta  through  the 
most  charming  scenery  to  a  spot  where  Echo  an- 
swered us  in  the  most  remarkable  way ;  her  distinct 
utterance  was  really  charming.  Not  being  aware  of 
the  secret,  I  thought  the  first  answer  to  the  halloo 
was  from  pickets.  Mr.  Halsey  has  a  magnificent 
voice ;  and  the  echoes  came  back  so  full  and  rich  that 
soon  we  appointed  him  speaker  by  mutual  consent, 
and  were  more  than  repaid  by  the  delightful  sounds 

365 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

that  came  from  the  woods.  The  last  ray  of  the  sun 
on  the  smooth  waters;  the  soldiers  resting  on  their 
oars  while  we  tuned  the  guitar  and  sang  in  the  still 
evening,  until  twilight,  slowly  closing  over,  warned 
us  to  return,  forms  another  of  those  pictures  inde- 
scribable though  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Bonfouca,  Saturday,  April  18th. 

When  I  paused  on  Thursday  to  rest  a  few  mo- 
ments, how  little  idea  I  had  that  the  rest  I  was 
taking  would  soon  be  required  for  another  journey! 

It  was  agreed  among  us,  with  our  fellow  travel- 
ers, Mrs.  Bull  and  Mrs.  Ivy,  whom  we  met  at  Mrs. 
Greyson's,  endeavoring  to  reach  the  city  like  our- 
selves, that  we  would  wait  there  until  we  could  re- 
ceive our  passports  from  General  Pemberton.  When 
this  journey  was  first  seriously  contemplated,  Miriam 
wrote  to  Colonel  Szymanski  representing  mother's 
state  of  health  and  my  unfortunate  condition,  the 
necessity  of  medical  advice  for  both,  and  the  impos- 
sibility of  remaining  in  famishing  Clinton,  and  asked 
him  to  apply  to  the  General  for  a  pass  to  go  to 
Brother.  The  Colonel  sent  word  through  Eugene  La 
Noue  that  we  should  obtain  it  in  a  few  days,  and 
advised  us  to  go  by  way  of  Ponchatoula.  Tired  of 
delay,  and  hearing  that  we  could  pass  as  readily  on 
General  Gardiner's  order,  we  obtained  one  and 
started  off  without  waiting  for  the  other.  The  first 
news  on  arriving  at  Madisonville  was  that  no  one 
should  pass  except  on  General  Pemberton 's  order. 

366 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Pleasant  intelligence  for  those  who  had  come  that 
far  without!  The  other  two  ladies  were  in  the  same 
dilemma.  They  were  told  that  they  should  have  a 
pass  if  they  would  wait.  Waiting  at  the  expense  of 
four  dollars  a  day  for  each,  —  Mrs.  Ivy  with  two 
very  sick  babies,  Mrs.  Bull  with  all  her  property  in 
New  Orleans  at  stake,  Tiche  with  her  broken  foot, 
mother  with  a  powerless  hand,  and  I  with  an  injured 
spine,  —  was  anything  but  agreeable  under  the  cir- 
cumstances ;  though  nothing  could  be  more  pleasant, 
apart  from  this  sense  of  restriction,  than  our  stay  at 
Madisonville.  General  Pemberton  took  his  leisure 
about  the  affair,  which  is  not  surprising,  as  our  Gen- 
erals have  more  weighty  matters  than  women's  pass- 
ports to  attend  to.  Still,  pleased  as  we  were  with  our 
residence  there,  it  was  necessary  to  get  on  as  soon  as 
possible.  So  as  I  rested  from  labors  about  one  o'clock 
on  Thursday,  Mrs.  Bull  came  in  to  suggest  a  new 
plan  to  mother.  It  was  to  leave  immediately  for  a 
plantation  called  Bonfouca,  thirty  miles  off,  where 
schooners  came  twice  a  week,  and  where  we  would 
be  allowed  to  embark  without  a  pass.  Carriages  that 
had  just  brought  a  party  of  ladies  from  Mandeville 
were  waiting  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  which 
could  take  us  off  immediately,  for  there  was  not  a 
moment  to  lose. 

Instantly  we  resolved  to  hazard  the  undertaking. 

About  three  we  got  into  the  large  scow  to  cross  the 
Tchefuncta,  in  a  party  numbering  five  ladies,  four 
children,  and  four  servants.    One  of  the  devoted 

367 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

pickets,  after  setting  me  carefully  in  the  most  com- 
fortable place,  asked  permission  to  accompany  me 
as  far  as  the  carriage ;  he  was  sure  he  could  assist  me 
more  carefully  than  the  drivers.  And  without  further 
parley,  he  followed.  Before  we  turned  the  point,  Mr. 
Worthington 1  .  .  .  the  dim  distance,  rowing  up  the 
stream  in  the  direction  of  Madison ville.  What  if  he 
had  perceived  us,  and  was  hastening  after  us,  deeming 
it  his  duty  to  arrest  us  for  trying  to  get  away  with- 
out General  Pemberton's  order?  As  the  idea  was 
suggested,  there  was  rather  a  nervous  set  of  ladies  on 
board.  The  half-mile  that  we  had  to  go  before  reach- 
ing our  landing-place  was  passed  over  in  nervous 
apprehension.  At  last  the  spot  was  reached.  Mr. 
Worthington  had  not  appeared,  and  we  reached  terra 
firma  without  being  "nabbed,"  as  we  confidently 
expected.  The  obliging  picket  put  me  into  the  car- 
riage, bade  me  a  most  friendly  adieu,  and  returned 
to  the  village,  leaving  us  with  every  prospect  of 
getting  off  without  serious  difficulty,  in  spite  of  our 
serious  apprehensions. 

With  two  little  children  and  Tiche  with  me,  our 
carriage  started  off  some  time  before  the  others.  Two 
or  three  miles  from  our  starting-point,  I  perceived 
three  gentlemen  riding  towards  us,  one  of  whom  I 
instantly  recognized  as  Dr.  Capdevielle.  Instantly  I 
stopped  the  carriage  to  speak  to  him.  His  look  of 
astonishment  when  satisfied  of  my  identity  rather 

1  The  torn  edge  of  a  page  has  obliterated  several  words,  which 
might,  to  judge  by  the  context,  have  been  "  was  seen  in." 

368 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

amused  me;  but  my  amusement  was  changed  to  a 
slight  feeling  of  disappointment  when  he  commenced 
talking.  Was  it  possible  I  was  leaving  Madison? 
Oh,  how  distressed  he  was!  He  was  promising  him- 
self so  much  pleasure !  And  to  leave  so  unexpectedly ! 
He  had  just  come  with  his  friends  from  —  some- 
where. They  had  planned  a  surprise  party  at  Mrs. 
Greyson's  for  us  that  evening,  and  had  been  after 
the  supper  they  had  procured  —  somewhere,  as  I 
before  observed,  and  were  just  now  returning.  And 
now  we  were  deserting  them !  He  had  invited  Mon- 
sieur   Berger,    Monsieur    Pollock,    Monsieur   

Mais  enfin  des  Messieurs  !  he  exclaimed  with  a  comi- 
cal emphasis  and  smile  that  brought  vivid  recollec- 
tions of  the  other  party  before  my  eyes,  by  force  of 
contrast,  I  suppose.  And  was  n't  I  sorry  we  had  left! 
We  fairly  condoled  with  each  other.  Twenty  min- 
utes had  elapsed  before  I  had  so  far  recovered  from 
the  disappointment  as  to  bethink  myself  of  the  pro- 
priety of  continuing  my  journey.  And  then  with  the 
assurance  of  being  mutually  desolS,  we  parted  with  a 
hearty  good-bye,  and  he  rode  on  to  rejoin  his  com- 
panions, while  I  went  the  way  he  had  come. 

Two  miles  beyond,  I  met  three  others  of  the  six 
gentlemen  he  had  mentioned,  riding  in  a  little  dog- 
cart which  contained  champagne  baskets  in  which 
the  supper  was  evidently  packed,  each  gentleman 
elegantly  dressed,  holding  between  them  a  little 
basket  of  bouquets  that  my  prophetic  soul  told  me 
was  intended  for  Miriam  and  me.    I  was  not  per- 

369 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

sonally  acquainted  with  the  gentlemen,  or  I  should 
have  told  them  of  the  disappointment  that  awaited 
them.   It  must  have  been  a  disappointment! 

In  the  midst  of  profound  reflections  about  fate, 
vanity  of  human  wishes  and  calculations,  friendships 
formed  on  the  roadside  in  the  journey  through  life 
(or  from  Clinton),  I  raised  my  eyes  to  behold  Lake 
Ponchartrain,  and  to  find  myself  in  Mandeville,  just 
seven  miles  from  the  Tchefuncta.  Looking  at  the 
dreary  expanse  of  water,  which  suggested  loneliness 
and  desolation,  first  recalled  my  own  situation  to  me. 
Here  I  was  in  this  straggling  place,  with  Tiche,  a 
cripple  like  myself,  and  two  little  children  under 
my  care,  without  an  idea  of  where  we  were  to  go. 
Any  one  as  timid  and  dependent  as  I  to  be  placed  in 
such  a  position  as  pioneer  to  such  a  tremendous 
company  would  feel  rather  forlorn.  But  some  step 
had  to  be  taken,  so  I  consulted  the  driver  as  to  where 
we  could  obtain  board,  and  followed  his  suggestion. 
One  house  after  the  other  we  stopped  at,  and  with 
my  veil  down  and  my  heart  beating  as  though  I  were 
soliciting  charity,  or  some  other  unpleasant  favor,  I 
tried  to  engage  rooms  for  the  company,  without  suc- 
cess. At  last  we  were  directed  to  a  Frenchman,  who, 
after  the  usual  assurance  of  "nothing  to  eat"  (which 
we  afterwards  found  to  be  only  too  true),  consented 
to  receive  us.  "Taking  possession"  seemed  to  me 
such  a  dreadful  responsibility  that  for  some  time  I 
remained  in  the  carriage,  afraid  to  get  out  before  the 
others  arrived.   But  there  was  still  no  sign  of 'them; 

370 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

so  I  gathered  my  children  and  Tiche,  and  prepared  to 
dismount  with  the  Frenchman's  assistance. 

I  have  read  descriptions  of  such  houses  and  people, 
but  I  have  not  often  seen  them.  The  man  and  his 
wife  were  perfect  specimens  of  the  low  Canadian, 
speaking  only  French.  No  sooner  had  they  discov- 
ered that  I  was  "bless6e,"  as  they  supposed,  than 
each  seized  an  arm  and  with  overwhelming  exclama- 
tions of  sympathy,  halfway  dragged  me  into  the 
room,  where  they  thrust  me  into  a  chair.  Their 
family  seemed  to  consist  only  of  cats  and  dogs  who 
seemed  to  agree  most  harmoniously,  and  each  of 
whom  conceived  the  liveliest  affection  for  us.  As  we 
were  leaving  Mrs.  Greyson's,  a  stranger  just  from  the 
city,  brought  to  our  room  a  paper  of  ham,  tongue,  and 
biscuits  for  "the  sick  young  lady"  (Heaven  only 
knows  how  she  heard  of  her),  saying  she  had  just 
traveled  the  road  herself,  and  knew  I  would  find 
nothing  to  eat;  so  she  would  insist  on  putting  this  in 
our  basket.  It  was  done  in  a  manner  that  put  all 
refusal  out  of  the  question;  so  it  had  to  be  accepted. 
I  was  feeding  little  Jenny  Ivy  and  Minna  Bull  on 
this  lunch  for  want  of  something  else  to  do,  when  the 
affection  of  the  cats  and  dogs  became  overpowering. 
Six  of  them  jumped  at  us,  licked  Jenny's  face,  eat 
Minna's  ham,  and  what  with  sundry  kicks  and  slaps 
I  had  exercise  enough  to  last  a  week,  and  was  rapidly 
losing  all  my  strength,  when  the  woman  came  to  my 
rescue  and  called  her  pets  off  just  as  the  rest  of  the 
party  drove  up  to  find  me  almost  exhausted. 

37i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Such  a  bedroom !  There  was  a  narrow  single  bed  in 
which  mother,  Jenny,  and  I  slept,  a  decrepit  table  on 
which  stood  a  diseased  mirror,  a  broken  lounge  with- 
out a  bottom,  and  a  pine  armoir  rilled  with  —  corn !  In 
the  centre  stood  the  chief  ornament,  a  huge  pile  of  dirt, 
near  which  Miriam's  mattress  was  placed,  while  the 
sail  of  a  boat  flanked  it  in  on  the  other  side,  arranged 
as  a  bed  for  Tiche.  The  accommodations  in  the 
other  bedroom  were  far  inferior  to  ours.  Then  the 
mosquitoes  swarmed  like  pandemonium  on  a  spree, 
and  there  was  but  one  bar  in  the  house,  which  the 
man  declared  should  be  only  for  me.  I  would  rather 
have  been  devoured  by  the  insects  than  enjoy  com- 
forts denied  to  the  others ;  so  I  made  up  my  mind  it 
should  be  the  last  time. 

Our  supper  was  rare.  "Nothing  like  it  was  ever 
seen  in  Paris,"  as  McClellan  would  say.  It  consisted 
of  one  egg  apiece,  with  a  small  spoonful  of  rice.  A 
feast,  you  see!  Price,  one  dollar  each,  besides  the 
dollar  paid  for  the  privilege  of  sleeping  among  dirt, 
dogs,  and  fleas. 

Sunday,  April  19th. 

Friday  morning  we  arose  and  prepared  to  resume 
our  journey  for  Bonfouca,  twenty-three  miles  away. 
The  man  walked  in  very  unceremoniously  to  get 
corn  from  the  armoir  as  we  got  up,  throwing  open  the 
windows  and  performing  sundry  little  offices  usually 
reserved  for  femmes-de-chambre;  but  with  that  excep- 
tion everything  went  on  very  well .  Breakfast  being  a 
luxury  not  to  be  procured,  we  got  into  the  carriages 

372 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

before  sunrise,  and  left  this  romantic  abode  of  dogs 
and  contentment.  Again  our  road  lay  through  piney 
woods,  so  much  like  that  from  Hammond  to  Pon- 
chatoula  that  involuntarily  I  found  myself  looking 
through  the  window  to  see  if  Mr.  Halsey  was  there. 
It  lacked  only  his  presence  to  make  the  scene  all  in 
all  the  same.  But  alas !  this  time  the  driver  picked  me 
wild  flowers,  and  brought  us  haws.  Mr.  Halsey,  in 
blissful  ignorance  of  our  departure,  was  many  and 
many  a  mile  away.  The  drive  was  not  half  as  amus- 
ing. The  horse  would  not  suffer  any  one  except 
Miriam  to  drive,  and  at  last  refused  to  move  until 
the  driver  got  down  and  ran  along  by  the  carriage. 
Every  time  the  poor  boy  attempted  to  occupy  his 
seat,  the  obstinate  animal  would  come  to  a  dead  stop 
and  refuse  to  go  until  he  dismounted  again.  I  am 
sure  that  he  walked  nineteen  miles  out  of  the  twenty- 
three,  out  of  complaisance  to  the  ungrateful  brute. 
All  equally  fatigued  and  warm,  we  reached  this 
place  about  twelve  o'clock.  Mrs.  Bull  had  arrived 
before  us;  and  as  the  carriage  stopped,  her  girl  Delia 
came  to  the  gate  the  personification  of  despair,  cry- 
ing, "You  can't  get  out,  ladies.  They  say  we  can't 
stop  here;  we  must  go  right  back."  The  panic  which 
ensued  is  indescribable.  Go  back  when  we  were  al- 
most at  our  journey's  end,  after  all  the  money  we 
had  spent,  the  fatigue  we  had  undergone,  to  be 
turned  back  all  the  way  to  Clinton,  perhaps!  "With 
my  sick  babies!"  cried  Mrs.  Ivy.  "With  my  sick 
child!"  cried  mother.   "Never!  You  may  turn  me 

373 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

out  of  your  house,  but  we  will  die  in  the  woods  first! 
To  go  back  is  to  kill  my  daughter  and  these  babies ! " 
This  was  to  the  overseer  who  came  to  the  carriage. 
"Madam,  I  have  orders  to  allow  no  one  to  pass  who 
has  not  written  permission.  Lieutenant  Worthing- 
ton  sent  the  order  two  days  ago ;  and  I  am  liable  to 
imprisonment  if  I  harbor  those  who  have  no  pass- 
port," the  man  explained.  "But  we  have  General 
Gardiner's  order,"  I  expostulated.  "Then  you  shall 
certainly  pass;  but  these  ladies  cannot.  I  can't  turn 
you  away,  though;  you  shall  all  come  in  and  stay 
until  something  can  be  determined  on." 

This  much  granted  was  an  unlooked-for  blessing. 
He  showed  us  the  way  to  a  large  unfurnished  house, 
one  room  of  which  contained  a  bed  with  one  naked 
mattress,  which  was  to  be  our  apartment.  Mrs.  Bull 
sat  down  in  a  calm,  dignified  state  of  despair;  little 
Mrs.  Ivy  dissolved  in  tears;  we  all  felt  equally  dis- 
consolate; the  prospect  of  getting  off  was  not  so 
pleasant  when  we  thought  we  should  be  obliged  to 
leave  them  behind.  Our  common  misfortunes  had 
endeared  us  to  each  other,  strangers  as  we  were  a 
week  ago.  So  we  all  lamented  together,  a  perfect 
Jeremiade  of  despair.  The  overseer  is  very  tender- 
hearted; he  condoled,  comforted,  and  finally  deter- 
mined that  if  there  was  any  way  of  getting  them  off, 
they  should  go.  A  glimpse  of  sunshine  returned  to 
our  lowering  sky,  and  cheerfulness  reigned  once 
more,  to  be  violently  dethroned  some  hours  later. 
Three  of  the  Madisonville  pickets  were  announced 

374 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

approaching  the  house.  Of  course,  they  were  coming 
after  us !  Oh,  that  vile  Mr.  Worthington !  We  always 
did  hate  him!  There  was  such  a  sneaky  look  about 
him.  Hypocrite !  we  always  felt  we  should  hate  him ! 
Oh,  the  wretch!  "I  won't  go  back!"  cried  mother. 
"I  shall  not,"  said  quiet  Mrs.  Bull.  "He  shall  pay 
my  expenses  if  he  insists  on  taking  me  back!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Ivy.  " Spent  all  my  money!  Mrs.  Bull, 
you  have  none  to  lend  me,  remember,  and  Mrs. 
Morgan  shan't  !  Oh,  that  Worthington !  Let 's  make 
him  pay  for  all!"  We  smothered  our  laughter  to  sit 
trembling  within  as  the  pickets  stepped  on  the  gal- 
lery. I  believe  we  commenced  praying.  Just  think! 
Thus  far,  our  journey  has  cost  mother  two  hundred 
and  twenty  dollars.  It  would  cost  the  same  to  get 
back  to  blessed  Clinton,  and  fancy  our  spending  that 
sum  to  settle  there  again !  Besides,  we  gave  away  all 
our  clothes  to  our  suffering  friends ;  and  what  would 
we  do  there  now? 

After  half  an  hour  of  painful  suspense,  we  discov- 
ered that  it  would  have  been  as  well  to  spare  poor 
Mr.  Worthington ;  for  the  pickets  were  not  after  us, 

but  had  come  to  escort  Mrs.  R ,  a  woman  who 

was  taking  the  body  of  her  son,  who  was  killed  at 
Murfreesboro,  to  the  city  for  interment.  Poor 
woman!  she  rode  all  this  distance  sitting  on  her  child's 
coffin.    Her  husband  was  one  of  those  who  with 

B stole  that  large  sum  of  money  from  father 

which  came  so  near  ruining  him.  She  speaks  of  her 
husband  as  of  a  departed  saint.   I  dare  say  she  be- 

375 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

lieves  him  innocent  of  the  theft  in  spite  of  his  public 
confession.  The  grave  has  wiped  out  even  the  dis- 
grace of  the  penitentiary  where  he  expiated  his 
offense.  .  .  .  When  I  told  Tiche  who  the  woman  was, 
she  clasped  her  hands,  saying,  "The  Lord  is  good! 
Years  and  years  master  suffered  while  she  grew  rich, 
and  now  her  time  comes!  The  Lord  don't  forget! "  I 
can't  feel  that  way.  It  is  well  for  the  narrow-minded 
to  look  for  God's  judgment  on  us  for  our  sins;  but 
mine  is  a  more  liberal  faith.  God  afflicted  her  for 
some  wise  purpose;  but  if  I  thought  it  was  to  avenge 
father,  I  should  be  afraid  of  her.  As  it  is,  I  can  be 
sorry,  oh,  so  sorry  for  her! 

As  usual  I  find  myself  taken  care  of  at  the  expense 
of  the  others.  There  are  but  two  bars  on  the  place ; 
one,  the  overseer  said,  should  be  for  me,  the  other  for 
the  children.  Sheets  were  scarce,  covers  scarcer 
still.  Tired  of  being  spoiled  in  this  way,  I  insisted  on 
being  allowed  to  sleep  on  a  mattress  on  the  floor, 
after  a  vigorous  skirmish  with  mother  and  Miriam, 
in  which  I  came  off  victorious.  For  a  bar,  I  impressed 
Miriam's  grenadine  dress,  which  she  fastened  to  the 
doorknob  and  let  fall  over  me  a  la  Victoria  tester 
arrangement.  To  my  share  fell  a  double  blanket, 
which,  as  Tiche  had  no  cover,  I  unfolded,  and  as  she 
used  the  foot  of  my  bed  for  a  pillow,  gave  her  the 
other  end  of  it,  thus  (tell  it  not  in  Yankeeland,  for 
it  will  never  be  credited)  actually  sleeping  under  the 
same  bedclothes  with  our  black,  shiny  negro  nurse! 
We  are  grateful,  though,  even  for  these  discomforts; 

376 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

it  might  have  been  so  much  worse!  Indeed,  I  fear 
that  our  fellow  travelers  do  not  fare  as  well.  Those 
who  have  sheets  have  no  bars ;  those  who  have  blan- 
kets have  no  sheets ;  and  one  woman  who  has  recently- 
joined  us  has  nothing  except  a  mattress  which  is  to 
do  the  duty  of  all  three.  But  then,  we  got  bread! 
Real,  pure,  wheat  bread!  And  coffee!  None  of  your 
potato,  burnt  sugar,  and  parched  corn  abomination, 
but  the  unadulterated  berry!  I  can't  enjoy  it  fully, 
though ;  every  mouthful  is  cloyed  with  the  recollec- 
tion that  Lilly  and  her  children  have  none. 

As  usual,  as  Mrs.  Greyson  says,  the  flowers  follow 
us;  yesterday  I  received  three  bouquets,  and  Miriam 
got  one  too.  In  this  out-of-the-way  place  such  offer- 
ings are  unexpected ;  and  these  were  doubly  gratify- 
ing coming  from  people  one  is  not  accustomed  to 
receiving  them  from.  For  instance,  the  first  was 
from  the  overseer,  the  second  from  a  servant,  and 
the  third  from  a  poor  boy  for  whom  we  have  sub- 
scribed to  pay  his  passage  to  the  city. 

Wednesday,  April  22d, 
New  Orleans. 

Yesterday  we  arrived ;  I  thought  we  should  never 
get  here.  Monday  we  had  almost  given  up  in  de- 
spair, believing  the  schooner  would  never  return. 
But  in  the  evening,  when  all  were  gathered  in  our 
room  discussing  our  hopes  and  fears,  a  sail  was  per- 
ceived at  the  mouth  of  the  bayou,  whereupon  every 
one  rushed  out  to  see  the  boat  land.   I  believe  that  I 

377 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

have  not  mentioned  that  this  Bonfouca  is  on  a  bayou 
of  the  same  name  that  runs  within  a  few  yards  of  this 
house.  It  is  an  Indian  name  signifying  Winding 
River,  which  struck  us  as  very  appropriate  when  we 
watched  the  schooner  sailing  now  to  the  left,  now  to 
the  right,  apparently  through  the  green  fields;  for 
the  high  grass  hid  the  course  of  the  stream  so  that 
the  faintest  line  was  not  perceptible,  except  just  in 
front  of  the  house.  All  was  now  bustle  and  confu- 
sion, packing,  dressing,  and  writing  last  words  to  our 
friends  at  home,  until  half-past  eleven,  when  we 
embarked. 

This  is  my  first  experience  of  schooners,  and  I 
don't  care  if  I  never  behold  another.  The  cabin  where 
Mr.  Kennedy  immediately  carried  me,  was  just  the 
size  of  my  bed  at  home  (in  the  days  I  had  a  home)  and 
just  high  enough  to  stand  in.  On  each  side  of  the 
short  ladder,  there  was  a  mattress  two  feet  wide. 

One  of  them  Mrs.  R had  possession  of  already, 

the  other  was  reserved  for  me.  I  gave  the  lower  part 
of  mine  to  Minna  and  Jennie,  who  spent  the  rest  of 
the  night  fighting  each  other  and  kicking  me. 

Just  before  twelve  we  "weighed  anchor"  and  I 
went  on  deck  to  take  a  last  look  at  Dixie  with  the 
rest  of  the  party.  Every  heart  was  full.  Each  left 
brothers,  sisters,  husband,  children,  or  dear  friends 
behind.  We  sang,  "Farewell  dear  land,"  with  a  slight 
quaver  in  our  voices,  looked  at  the  beautiful  starlight 
shining  on  the  last  boundary  of  our  glorious  land,  and, 
fervently  and  silently  praying,  passed  out  of  sight. 

378 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

God  bless  you,  all  you  dear  ones  we  have  left  in 
our  beloved  country!  God  bless  and  prosper  you, 
and  grant  you  the  victory  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ. 

I  returned  to  my  mattress,  and  this  is  the  way 
we  spent  the  night. 

Mrs.  R ,  rocking  and  moaning  as  she  sat  up  in 

bed,  whined  out  her  various  ills  with  a  minute  de- 
scription of  each,  ceasing  the  recital  only  to  talk  of 
her  son's  body  which  lay  on  deck.  (Yesterday  morn- 
ing she  was  sitting  crying  on  his  coffin  while  a  strange 
woman  sat  on  its  head  eating  her  bread  and  cheese.) 
Mrs.  Bull,  one  of  the  most  intelligent  and  refined 
ladies  I  have  yet  met,  who  is  perfectly  devoted  to 
me,  sat  by  me,  laughing  and  talking,  trying  her  best 
to  make  every  one  comfortable  and  happy  in  her 

unobtrusive  way.    Mother  talked  to  Mrs.  R and 

cried  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her  children  fighting 
and  suffering.  The  space  between  the  two  beds  was 
occupied  by  three  Irishwomen  and  Mrs.  Ivy's  two 
babies.  The  babies  had  commenced  screaming  as 
they  were  brought  into  the  pen,  at  which  I  was  not 
surprised.  Having  pitched  their  voices  on  the  proper 
key,  they  never  ceased  shrieking,  kicking,  crying, 
throwing  up,  and  going  through  the  whole  list  of 
baby  performances.  The  nurses  scolded  with  shrill 
voices  above  the  bedlam  that  had  hushed  even  Mrs. 

R 's  complaints;  Jennie  and  Minna  quarreled, 

kicked,  and  cried;  and  as  an  aggravation  to  the  pre- 
vious discomforts,   a  broad-shouldered,  perspiring 

379 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Irishwoman  sat  just  by  my  head,  bracing  herself 
against  my  pillow  in  the  most  unpleasant  style.  I 
endured  it  without  flinching  until  about  half-past 
three,  when  the  condensed  odor  of  a  dozen  different 
people  and  children  became  unendurable,  and  I  stag- 
gered up  on  deck  where  Miriam  and  Mrs.  Ivy  had 
been  wise  enough  to  remain  without  venturing  be- 
low. They  laid  me  on  a  bench  in  the  stern,  rolled  me 
up  in  shawls  to  keep  off  the  heavy  dew,  and  there  I 
remained  until  daylight  with  them,  as  wide  awake 
as  ever. 

At  daylight  there  was  a  universal  smoothing  of 
heads,  and  straightening  of  dresses,  besides  arrange- 
ments made  for  the  inspection  of  baggage.  Being 
unwilling  for  any  Christian  to  see  such  a  book  as 
this,  I  passed  a  piece  of  tape  through  the  centre 
leaves,  and  made  Miriam  tie  it  under  her  hoops.  At 
sunrise  we  were  in  sight  of  the  houses  at  the  lake 
end.  It  seemed  as  though  we  would  never  reach 
land. 

I  forgot  to  speak  of  our  alarm  as  we  got  in  the  lake. 
No  sooner  had  we  fairly  left  the  bayou  than  the 
sky  suddenly  became  threatening.  The  captain 
shook  his  head  and  spoke  of  a  very  ugly  night  for  the 
lake,  which  sent  everybody's  heart  to  their  throats, 
and  alarmed  us  immeasurably.  We  got  talking  of 
the  sailor's  superstition  of  crossing  the  water  with  a 
corpse,  until  we  persuaded  ourselves  that  it  was 
more  than  probable  we  would  founder  in  the  coming 
storm.   But  the  severest  storm  we  met  was  the  one 

380 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

in  the  cabin ;  and  all  night  the  only  wind  was  a  head 
breeze,  and  the  spicy  gale  from  below. 

When  we  at  last  entered  the  canal,  I  beheld  the 
animal  now  so  long  unseen,  the  Yankee.  In  their 
dark  blue  uniforms,  they  stood  around,  but  I  thought 
of  the  dear  gray  coats,  and  even  the  pickets  of 
Madisonville  seemed  nobler  and  greater  men  than 
these.  Immediately  a  guard  was  placed  on  board, 
we  whispering  before  he  came,  "Our  dear  Confeder- 
ates, God  bless  them." 

We  had  agreed  among  ourselves  that  come  what 
would,  we  would  preserve  our  dignity  and  self- 
respect,  and  do  anything  rather  than  create  a  scene 
among  such  people.  It  is  well  that  we  agreed.  So 
we  whispered  quietly  among  ourselves,  exhorting 
each  other  to  pay  no  attention  to  the  remarks  the 
Yankees  made  about  us  as  we  passed,  and  acting  the 
martyr  to  perfection,  until  we  came  to  Hickock's 
Landing.  Here  there  was  a  group  of  twenty  Yan- 
kees. Two  officers  came  up  and  asked  us  for  papers ; 
we  said  we  had  none.  In  five  minutes  one  came  back, 
and  asked  if  we  had  taken  the  oath.  No;  we  had 
never  taken  any.  He  then  took  down  our  names. 
Mother  was  alone  in  the  coop.  He  asked  if  there  was 
not  another.  The  schooner  had  fifteen  passengers, 
and  we  had  given  only  fourteen  names.  Mother  then 
came  up  and  gave  her  name,  going  back  soon 
after. 

While  one  went  after  our  passes,  others  came  to 
examine  our  baggage.    I  could  not  but  smile  as  an 

38i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

unfortunate  young  man  got  on  his  knees  before  our 
trunk  and  respectfully  handled  our  dirty  petticoats 
and  stockings.  "You  have  gone  through  it  before," 
he  said.  "Of  course,  the  Confederates  searched  it." 
—  "Indeed,  they  did  not  touch  it!"  I  exclaimed. 
"They  never  think  of  doing  such  work."  —  "Miss, 
it  is  more  mortifying  to  me  than  it  can  be  to  you,"  he 
answered.  And  I  saw  he  was  actually  blushing.  He 
did  his  work  as  delicately  as  possible,  and  when  he 
returned  the  keys,  asked  if  we  had  letters.  I  opened 
my  box  and  put  them  into  his  hand.  One  came  near 
getting  me  into  serious  trouble.  It  was  sent  by  some 
one  I  never  saw,  with  the  assurance  that  it  contained 
nothing  objectionable.  I  gave  it  sealed  to  the  man, 
who  opened  it,  when  it  proved  to  be  rather  disagree- 
able, I  judged  from  his  language.  He  told  me  his 
captain  must  see  it  before  he  could  let  me  have  it, 
and  carried  it  off.  Presently  he  came  back  and  told 
me  it  could  not  be  returned.  I  told  him  to  burn  it 
then,  as  I  neither  knew  the  writer,  the  contents,  nor 
those  it  was  written  to.  "I  may  save  you  some  diffi- 
culty if  I  destroy  it,"  he  remarked,  whereupon  he 
tore  it  up  and  flung  it  into  the  canal.  I  have  since 
found  I  had  cause  to  be  grateful ;  for  just  after  came 
an  officer  to  see  the  young  lady  who  brought  that 
letter.  I  showed  the  pieces  in  the  water,  saying  the 
young  man  had  torn  it  up,  which  seemed  to  annoy 
him;  it  was  to  be  sent  to  headquarters,  he  said. 

Then  came  a  bundle  of  papers  on  board  carried 
by  another,  who  standing  in  front  of  us,  cried  in  a 

382 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

startling  way,  "Sarah  Morgan!"  —  "Here"  (very 
quietly).  —  "Stand  up!"  —  "I  cannot"  (firmly).  — 
"Why  not?"  — "Unable"  (decisively).  After  this 
brief  dialogue,  he  went  on  with  the  others  until  all 
were  standing  except  myself,  when  he  delivered  to 
each  a  strip  of  paper  that  informed  the  people  that 
Miss,  or  Mrs.  So-and-So  had  taken  and  subscribed 
the  oath  as  Citizen  of  the  United  States.  I  thought 
that  was  all,  and  rejoiced  at  our  escape.  But  after 
another  pause  he  uncovered  his  head  and  told  us  to 
hold  up  our  right  hands.  Half-crying,  I  covered  my 
face  with  mine  and  prayed  breathlessly  for  the  boys 
and  the  Confederacy,  so  that  I  heard  not  a  word  he 
was  saying  until  the  question,  "So  help  you  God?" 
struck  my  ear.  I  shuddered  and  prayed  harder. 
There  came  an  awful  pause  in  which  not  a  lip  was 
moved.  Each  felt  as  though  in  a  nightmare,  until, 
throwing  down  his  blank  book,  the  officer  pro- 
nounced it  "All  right!"  Strange  to  say,  I  experi- 
enced no  change.  I  prayed  as  hard  as  ever  for  the 
boys  and  our  country,  and  felt  no  nasty  or  disagree- 
able feeling  which  would  have  announced  the  process 
of  turning  Yankee. 

Then  it  was  that  mother  commenced.  He  turned 
to  the  mouth  of  the  diminutive  cave,  and  asked  if 
she  was  ready  to  take  the  oath.  "I  suppose  I  have 
to,  since  I  belong  to  you,"  she  replied.  "  No,  madam, 
you  are  not  obliged ;  we  force  no  one.  Can  you  state 
your  objections?"  "Yes,  I  have  three  sons  fighting 
against  you,  and  you  have  robbed  me,  beggared  me ! " 

383 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

she  exclaimed,  launching  into  a  speech  in  which 
Heaven  knows  what  she  did  not  say ;  there  was  little 
she  left  out,  from  her  despoiled  house  to  her  sore 
hand,  both  of  which  she  attributed  to  the  at  first 
amiable  man,  who  was  rapidly  losing  all  patience. 
Faint  with  hunger,  dizzy  with  sleeplessness,  she  had 
wrought  on  her  own  feelings  until  her  nerves  were 
beyond  control.  She  was  determined  to  carry  it  out, 
and  crying  and  sobbing  went  through  with  it. 

I  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  .  .  .  The  officer  walked 
off  angrily  and  sent  for  a  guard  to  have  mother  taken 
before  General  Bowens.  Once  through  her  speech, 
mother  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  the  ladies  and  pro- 
fessed herself  ready  to  take  the  oath,  since  she  was 
obliged  to.  "  Madam,  I  did  not  invite  you  to  come," 
said  the  polite  officer,  who  refused  to  administer  the 
oath;  and  putting  several  soldiers  on  board,  ordered 
them  to  keep  all  on  board  until  one  could  report  to 
General  Bowens.  Mother  retired  to  the  cabin,  while 
we  still  kept  our  seats  above. 

Oh,  that  monotonous,  never-ending  canal!  We 
thought  it  would  go  on  forever.  At  last  we  came  to 
the  basin  in  the  centre  of  the  city.  Here  was  a  posi- 
tion for  ladies !  Sitting  like  Irish  emigrants  on  their 
earthly  possessions,  and  coming  in  a  schooner  to 
New  Orleans,  which  a  year  ago  would  have  filled 
us  with  horror.  Again  the  landing  was  reached, 
and  again  we  were  boarded  by  officers.  I  don't 
know  how  they  knew  of  the  difficulty  mother  had 
made,   but   they   certainly   did,   and   ordered  that 

384 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

none  should  leave  until  the  General's  will  was  made 
known. 

Mrs.  Bull  and  Mrs.  Ivy,  after  a  long  delay  and 
many  representations,  at  last  prepared  to  leave.  I 
was  sitting  in  the  spot  I  had  occupied  ever  since  be- 
fore daylight,  with  nothing  to  support  me  above  my 
hips.  All  of  us  had  fasted  since  an  early  and  light 
supper  the  night  before ;  none  had  slept.  I  was  grow- 
ing so  weak  from  these  three  causes,  and  the  burning 
sun  (for  it  was  now  twelve),  that  I  could  hardly 
speak  when  they  came  to  tell  me  good-bye.  Alarmed 
at  my  appearance,  Mrs.  Bull  entreated  the  officer  to 
allow  me  to  leave  the  boat.  No,  he  said ;  it  was  im- 
possible; we  should  remain  on  board  until  General 
Bowens  could  come.  We  may  get  an  answer  in  half 
an  hour,  or  we  may  not  get  it  for  some  time ;  and 
there  we  must  stay  until  it  came.  "But  this  young 
lady  has  been  ill  for  months;  she  is  perfectly  ex- 
hausted, and  will  faint  if  she  is  not  removed  imme- 
diately," pleaded  Mrs.  Bull.  She  did  not  know  my 
powers  of  control.  Faint!  I  would  have  expired 
silently  first !  The  officer  said  those  were  his  orders ; 
I  could  not  leave.  "Do  you  think  you  are  perform- 
ing your  duty  as  a  gentleman  and  a  Christian?  This 
young  lady  has  obtained  her  pass  already,  without 
the  slightest  difficulty,"  she  persisted.  Still  he  said 
he  was  acting  according  to  orders.  Not  to  be  baffled, 
she  begged  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  take  me  to 
Brother,  telling  him  who  he  was,  while  our  trunk, 
Miriam,  Tiche,  and  mother  would  remain  as  hos- 

385 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tages.  Then  he  gave  a  reluctant  consent  on  condi- 
tion I  left  my  number,  so  he  could  go  after  me  when 
I  was  wanted. 

I  don't  know  what  good  came  of  the  consent,  for 
there  I  was  to  remain  until  something,  I  don't  know 
what,  happened.  I  only  know  I  was  growing  deathly 
sick  and  faint,  and  could  hardly  hold  myself  up, 
when  some  time  after  Mrs.  Bull  and  Mrs.  Ivy  left 
(under  the  impression  that  I  was  to  go  immediately), 
a  gentleman  in  citizen's  clothes  came  to  me  and  said 
he  had  obtained  permission  for  me  to  wait  General 
Bowens's  orders  in  his  office,  a  few  steps  from  the 
schooner.  Thankful  for  so  much,  I  accepted  his  arm 
and  slowly  dragged  myself  along  to  the  first  shelter 
I  had  seen  that  day.  By  some  wonderful  condescen- 
sion Miriam  and  mother  were  allowed  to  follow;  and 
with  the  guard  at  the  door,  we  waited  there  for  half 
an  hour  more  until  our  sentence  could  be  received. 

Miriam  had  written  a  line  to  Brother  as  soon  as 
possible,  telling  him  of  the  situation,  and  while  we 
were  waiting  in  this  office,  I  half  dead  with  fatigue, 
a  carriage  dashed  up  to  the  door,  and  out  of  it  stepped 
Brother.  I  felt  that  all  our  troubles  were  over  then. 
He  looked  so  glad  to  see  us  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to 
tell  the  disagreeable  story  that  yet  remained  to  be 
told.  But  once  heard,  he  made  all  go  right  in  a  few 
moments.  He  got  into  the  carriage  with  mother,  to 
take  her  to  General  Bowens,  while  we  got  into  an- 
other to  come  to  the  house.  I  saw  no  more  of  the 
guard  or  officer. 

386 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

When  we  arrived,  Sister  was  too  astonished  to 
speak.  She  did  not  believe  we  would  come  when  it  was 
ordered  that  all  should  take  the  oath  on  entering.  If 
we  had  only  realized  it  I  don't  think  we  would,  either. 

In  half  an  hour  mother  got  back.  Supported  by 
Brother's  presence,  she  had  managed  to  hold  up  her 
right  hand  and  say  "Yes"  to  the  oath  —  which  was 
more  than  any  of  us  had  done. 

Brother  found  an  officer  at  the  door  who  had  been 
ordered  (before  he  took  mother  to  the  General)  to 
arrest  her  and  confine  her  in  the  Custom-House.  I 
suppose  Miriam  and  I  would  have  shared  the  im- 
prisonment with  her.  But  Brother  has  a  way  of  mak- 
ing all  these  things  right;  and  the  man  was  sent  back 
without  accomplishing  his  mission. 

Sunday,  April  26th. 
I  am  getting  well!  Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  soul! 
Life,  health,  and  happiness  dawn  on  my  trembling 
view  again!  .  .  .  Dr.  Stone  came  to  see  me  a  few 
hours  after  I  arrived ;  two  days  after,  he  called  again ; 
this  morning  I  walked  out  to  meet  him  when  he  was 
announced,  and  he  asked  me  how  my  sister  was. 
When  I  told  him  I  was  myself,  "God  bless  my  soul! 
You  don't  say  so!"  he  exclaimed,  evidently  aston- 
ished at  the  resurrection. 

Thursday,  April  30th. 

Was  not  the  recollection  of  this  day  bitter  enough 
to  me  already?  I  did  not  think  it  could  be  more  so. 

387 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Yet  behold  me  crying  as  I  have  not  cried  for  many 
and  many  a  day.  Not  for  Harry ;  I  dare  not  cry  for 
him.  I  feel  a  deathlike  quiet  when  I  think  of  him; 
a  fear  that  even  a  deep-drawn  breath  would  wake 
him  in  his  grave.  And  as  dearly  as  I  love  you,  0  Hal, 
I  don't  want  you  in  this  dreary  world  again.  .  .  . 

Talk  of  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes! 
Talk  of  Louis  XIV !  Of  —  pshaw !  my  head  is  in  such 
a  whirl  that  history  gets  all  mixed  up,  and  all  paral- 
lels seem  weak  and  moderate  in  comparison  to  this 
infamous  outrage.  To-day,  thousands  of  families, 
from  the  most  respectable  down  to  the  least,  all  who 
have  had  the  firmness  to  register  themselves  enemies 
to  the  United  States,  are  ordered  to  leave  the  city 
before  the  fifteenth  of  May.  Think  of  the  thousands, 
perfectly  destitute,  who  can  hardly  afford  to  buy 
their  daily  bread  even  here,  sent  to  the  Confederacy, 
where  it  is  neither  to  be  earned  nor  bought,  without 
money,  friends,  or  a  home.  Hundreds  have  comfort- 
able homes  here,  which  will  be  confiscated  to  enrich 
those  who  drive  them  out.  "It  is  an  ill  wind  that 
blows  no  one  good."  Such  dismal  faces  as  one  meets 
everywhere!  Each  looks  heartbroken.  Homeless, 
friendless,  beggars,  is  written  in  every  eye.  Brother's 
face  is  too  unhappy  to  make  it  pleasant  to  look  at 
him.  True,  he  is  safe;  but  hundreds  of  his  friends  are 
going  forth  destitute,  leaving  happy  homes  behind, 
not  knowing  where  the  crust  of  bread  for  famishing 
children  is  to  come  from  to-morrow.  He  went  to 
General  Bowens  and  asked  if  it  were  possible  that 

388 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

women  and  children  were  included  in  the  order.  Yes, 
he  said;  they  should  all  go,  and  go  in  the  Confed- 
eracy. They  should  not  be  allowed  to  go  elsewhere. 
Penned  up  like  sheep  to  starve!  That's  the  idea! 
With  the  addition  of  forty  thousand  mouths  to  feed, 
they  think  they  can  invoke  famine  to  their  aid,  see- 
ing that  their  negro  brothers  don't  help  them  much 
in  the  task  of  subjugating  us. 

Don't  care  who  knows  I  smuggled  in  a  dozen  let- 
ters! Wish  I  had  had  more! 

June  9th,  Tuesday. 

My  dear  Brother,  who  is  always  seeking  to  make 
somebody  happy,  arranged  a  dinner-party  at  the 
lake  for  us  Saturday.  There  was  quite  a  number  of 
us,  as,  besides  ourselves  and  the  five  children,  we 
had  Mrs.  Price  and  her  children,  Mrs.  Bull,  and  three 
nurses.  .  .  .  There  are  no  Southern  young  men  left  in 
town,  and  those  who  remain  would  hardly  be  received 
with  civility  by  Miriam  and  myself.  Of  the  Yankees, 
Brother  has  so  much  consideration  for  us  that  he 
has  never  invited  one  to  his  house  since  we  have  been 
here,  though  he  has  many  friends  among  them  who 
visited  here  before  our  arrival.  Such  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing we  fully  appreciate,  knowing  how  very  few  men 
of  such  a  hospitable  nature  would  be  capable  of  such 
a  sacrifice.  Thinking  we  need  company,  Brother  fre- 
quently invites  what  he  calls  "a  safe  old  Secession- 
ist" (an  old  bachelor  of  fifty-three  who  was  wounded 
at  Shiloh)  to  dine  with  us ;  thinking  it  a  fair  compro- 

389 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

mise  between  the  stay-at-home  youth  and  Yankees, 
neither  of  whom  this  extremely  young  man  could  be 
confounded  with. 

Sunday,  June  14th. 

The  excitement  about  Port  Hudson  and  Vicks- 
burg  is  intense.  When  I  heard  on  Friday  that  the 
last  attack  was  being  made  on  the  former  place,  I 
took  to  my  prayers  with  a  delirium  of  fervor.  If  I  was 
a  man,  if  I  had  the  blessed  privilege  of  fighting,  I  would 
be  on  the  breastworks,  or  perchance  on  the  water 
batteries  under  Colonel  Steadman's  command.  But 
as  I  was  unfortunately  born  a  woman,  I  stay  home 
and  pray  with  heart  and  soul.  That  is  all  I  can  do; 
but  I  do  it  with  a  will.  In  my  excitement,  I  was  wish- 
ing that  I  was  a  Catholic,  that  I  might  make  a  vow 
for  the  preservation  of  Port  Hudson,  when  a  brilliant 
idea  struck  me.  It  was  this:  though  vows  are  pe- 
culiar to  Catholics,  mosquitoes  are  common  to  all 
sects.  From  that  arose  this  heroic  scheme:  I  said, 
"Hear  me,  Miriam,  thou  who  knowest  I  have  slept 
undisturbed  but  three  nights  out  of  seventeen,  four 
hours  out  of  each  of  the  other  fourteen  having  been 
spent  in  destroying  my  insatiable  foe.  Thou  seest 
that  nightly  vigils  are  torturing  me  pale  and  weak, 
thou  knowest  what  unspeakable  affection  I  have  for 
the  youth  yclept  by  the  ancients  Morpheus.  Yet 
listen  to  my  vow:  If  Port  Hudson  holds  out,  if  our 
dear  people  are  victorious,  I  offer  up  myself  on  the 
altar  of  my  country  to  mosquitoes,  and  never  again 
will  I  murmur  at  their  depredations  and  voracity." 

390 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Talk  of  pilgrimages,  and  the  ordinary  vow  of  wearing 
only  the  Virgin's  colors  (the  most  becoming  in  the 
world) ;  there  never  was  one  of  greater  heroism  or  more 
sublime  self-sacrifice  than  this.  And  as  if  to  prove  my 
sincerity,  they  have  been  worse  than  ever  these  last 
two  nights.  But  as  yet  I  have  not  murmured;  for 
the  Yankees,  who  swore  to  enter  Port  Hudson  before 
last  Monday  night,  have  not  yet  fulfilled  their  prom- 
ise, and  we  hold  it  still.  Vivent  vows  and  mosquitoes, 
and  forever  may  our  flag  wave  over  the  entrench- 
ments! We  will  conquer  yet,  with  God's  blessing! 

A  week  or  ten  days  ago  came  a  letter  from  Lydia, 
who  is  placed  within  the  lines  by  this  recent  raid. 
She  writes  that  the  sugar-house  and  quarters  have 
been  seized  for  Yankee  hospitals,  that  they  have 
been  robbed  of  their  clothing,  and  that  they  are  in 
pursuit  of  the  General,  who  I  pray  Heaven  may 
escape  them.  She  wrote  for  clothing,  provisions,  and 
a  servant,  and  after  we  had  procured  them  all,  and 
were  ready  to  send  them,  we  discovered  that  they 
would  not  be  allowed  to  pass ;  so  I  hardly  know  what 
the  poor  child  will  do  unless  she  accepts  Brother's 
invitation  to  come  down  to  him  immediately,  if  she 

thinks  it  right. 

June  17th. 

I  must  write  something  somewhere,  I  don't  care  if 

dinner  is  ready,  and  Brother's  "safe  old  Secesh" 

downstairs !  Lydia  has  another  boy !  Letter  has  just 

come,  and  I  am  demented  about  my  new  godchild ! 

There  now!  feel  better! 

39i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

One  more  word  —  it  shall  be  called  "Howell." 
Dear,  blessed  little  baby !  how  I  shall  love  it ! 

Sunday,  June  21st. 

How  about  that  oath  of  allegiance?  is  what  I  fre- 
quently ask  myself,  and  always  an  uneasy  qualm  of 
conscience  troubles  me.  Guilty  or  not  guilty  of  per- 
jury? According  to  the  law  of  God  in  the  abstract, 
and  of  nations,  Yes ;  according  to  my  conscience,  Jeff 
Davis,  and  the  peculiar  position  I  was  placed  in,  No. 
Which  is  it?  Had  I  had  any  idea  that  such  a  pledge 
would  be  exacted,  would  I  have  been  willing  to  come? 
Never !  The  thought  would  have  horrified  me.  The 
reality  was  never  placed  before  me  until  we  reached 
Bonfouca.  There  I  was  terrified  at  the  prospect;  but 
seeing  how  impossible  it  would  be  to  go  back,  I 
placed  all  my  hopes  in  some  miracle  that  was  to 
intervene  to  prevent  such  a  crime,  and  confidently 
believed  my  ill  health  or  something  else  would  save 
me,  while  all  the  rest  of  the  party  declared  they  would 
think  it  nothing,  and  take  forty  oaths  a  day,  if  neces- 
sary. A  forced  oath,  all  men  agree,  is  not  binding. 
The  Yankees  lay  particular  stress  on  this  being  vol- 
untary, and  insist  that  no  one  is  solicited  to  take  it 
except  of  their  own  free  will.  Yet  look  at  the  scene 
that  followed,  when  mother  showed  herself  unwilling ! 
Think  of  being  ordered  to  the  Custom-House  as  a 
prisoner  for  saying  she  supposed  she  would  have  to ! 
That  's  liberty!  that  is  free  will!  It  is  entirely  op- 
tional; you  have  only  to  take  it  quietly  or  go  to  jail. 

392 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

That  is  freedom  enough,  certainly!  There  was  not 
even  that  choice  left  to  me.  I  told  the  officer  who 
took  down  my  name  that  I  was  unwilling  to  take 
the  oath,  and  asked  if  there  was  no  escaping  it. 
"  None  whatever  "  was  his  reply.  "You  have  it  to  do, 
and  there  is  no  getting  out  of  it."  His  rude  tone 
frightened  me  into  half-crying;  but  for  all  that,  as  he 
said,  I  had  it  to  do.  If  perjury  it  is,  which  will  God 
punish :  me,  who  was  unwilling  to  commit  the  crime, 
or  the  man  who  forced  me  to  it? 

Friday,  June  26th. 

0  praise  the  Lord,  0  my  soul !  Here  is  good  news 
enough  to  make  me  happy  for  a  month !  Brother  is 
so  good  about  that !  Every  time  he  hears  good  news 
on  our  side,  he  tells  it  just  as  though  it  was  on  his 
side,  instead  of  on  ours ;  while  all  bad  news  for  us  he 
carefully  avoids  mentioning,  unless  we  question  him. 
So  to-day  he  brought  in  a  budget  for  us. 

Lee  has  crossed  the  Potomac  on  his  way  to  Wash- 
ington with  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  men. 
Gibbes  and  George  are  with  him.  Magruder  is 
marching  on  Fort  Jackson,  to  attack  it  in  the  rear. 
One  or  two  of  our  English  ironclads  are  reported  at 
the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  Farragut  has  gone  down 
to  capture  them.  O  Jimmy!  Jimmy!  suppose  he 
should  be  on  one  of  them?  We  don't  know  the  name 
of  his  ship,  and  it  makes  us  so  anxious  for  him,  dur- 
ing these  months  that  we  have  heard  nothing  of  his 
whereabouts. 

393 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

It  is  so  delightful  to  see  these  frightened  Yankees! 
One  has  only  to  walk  downtown  to  be  satisfied  of  the 
alarm  that  reigns.  Yesterday  came  the  tidings  of  the 
capture  of  Brashere  City  by  our  troops,  and  that  a 
brigade  was  fifteen  miles  above  here,  coming  down 
to  the  city.  Men  congregated  at  corners  whispering 
cautiously.  These  were  evidently  Confederates  who 
had  taken  the  oath.  Solitary  Yankees  straggled 
along  with  the  most  lugubrious  faces,  troubling  no 
one.  We  walked  down  to  Blineau's  with  Mrs.  Price, 
and  over  our  ice-cream  she  introduced  her  husband, 
who  is  a  true  blue  Union  man,  though  she,  like  our- 
selves, is  a  rank  Rebel.  Mr.  Price,  on' the  eve  of  mak- 
ing an  immense  fortune,  was  perfectly  disconsolate 
at  the  news.  Every  one  was  to  be  ruined ;  starvation 
would  follow  if  the  Confederates  entered ;  there  was 
never  a  more  dismal,  unhappy  creature.  Enchanted 
at  the  news,  I  naturally  asked  if  it  were  reliable. 
"  Perfectly !  Why,  to  prove  how  true,  standing  at  the 
door  of  this  salon  five  minutes  ago,  I  saw  two  young 
ladies  pass  with  Confederate  flags,  which  they 
flirted  in  the  face  of  some  Federal  officers,  unre- 
buked!"  Verily,  thought  I,  something  is  about  to 
happen!  Two  days  ago  the  girls  who  were  "unre- 
buked"  this  evening  would  have  found  themselves 
in  jail  instead. 

July  ioth. 

Shall  I  cry,  faint,  scream,  or  go  off  in  hysterics? 
Tell  me  which,  quickly;  for  to  doubt  this  news  is  fine 
and  imprisonment,  and  if  I  really  believe  it  I  would 

394 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

certainly  give  way  to  my  feelings  and  commit  some 
vagaries  of  the  kind.  My  resolution  is  formed !  I  will 
do  neither;  I  won't  gratify  the  Yankees  so  much.  I 
have  been  banging  at  the  piano  until  my  fingers  are 
weary,  and  singing  "The  Secret  through  Life  to  be 
Happy  "  until  my  voice  is  cracked ;  I  '11  stand  on  my 
head  if  necessary,  to  prove  my  indifference ;  but  I  '11 
never  believe  this  is  true  until  it  is  confirmed  by 
stronger  authority. 

Day  before  yesterday  came  tidings  that  Vicks- 
burg  had  fallen  on  the  4th  inst.  The  "Era"  poured 
out  extras,  and  sundry  little  popguns  fizzled  out 
salutes.  All  who  doubted  the  truth  of  the  report  and 
were  brave  enough  to  say  so  were  fined  or  impris- 
oned; it  has  become  a  penal  offense  to  doubt  what 
the  "Era"  says;  so  quite  a  number  of  arrests  were 
made.  This  morning  it  was  followed  up  by  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  capture  of  Port  Hudson.  The 
guns  are  pealing  for  true,  and  the  Yankees  at  head- 
quarters may  be  seen  skipping  like  lambs,  for  very 
joy.  And  I  still  disbelieve!  Skeptic!  The  first  thing 
I  know  that  "  Era"  man  will  be  coming  here  to  con- 
vert me!  But  I  don't,  can't,  won't  believe  it!  If  it  is 
true,  —  but  I  find  consolation  in  this  faith :  it  is 
either  true,  or  not  true,  —  if  it  is  true,  it  is  all  for  the 
best,  and  if  it  is  not  true,  it  is  better  still.  Whichever 
it  is,  is  for  some  wise  purpose ;  so  it  does  not  matter, 
so  we  wait,  pray,  and  believe. 


395 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

5  o'clock,  p.m. 

I  don't  believe  it?  What  am  I  crying  about  then? 
It  seems  so  hard!  How  the  mighty  are  fallen !  Port 
Hudson  gone!  Brother  believes  it.  That  is  enough 
for  me.  God  bless  him !  I  cry  hourly.  He  is  so  good 
and  considerate.  He  told  me,  "Name  your  friends, 
and  what  can  be  done  for  them  shall  be  attended  to. 
The  prisoners  will  be  sent  here.  Maybe  I  cannot  do 
much ;  but  food  and  clothing  you  shall  have  in  abun- 
dance for  them  when  they  arrive."  God  bless  him  for 
his  kindness! 

0  dear,  noble  men!  I  am  afraid  to  meet  them;  I 
should  do  something  foolish ;  best  take  my  cry  out  in 
private  now.  May  the  Lord  look  down  in  pity  on  us! 
Port  Hudson  does  not  matter  so  much;  but  these 
brave,  noble  creatures!  The  "Era"  says  they  had 
devoured  their  last  mule  before  they  surrendered. 

Saturday,  July  ioth,  10  o'clock  p.m. 

1  preach  patience;  but  how  about  practice?  I  am 
exasperated !  there  is  the  simple  fact.  And  is  it  not 
enough?  What  a  scene  I  have  just  witnessed!  A 
motley  crew  of  thousands  of  low  people  of  all  colors 
parading  the  streets  with  flags,  torches,  music,  and 
all  other  accompaniments,  shouting,  screaming,  ex- 
ulting over  the  fall  of  Port  Hudson  and  Vicksburg. 
The  "  Era  "  will  call  it  an  enthusiastic  demonstration 
of  the  loyal  citizens  of  the  city;  we  who  saw  it  from 
upper  balconies  know  of  what  rank  these  "citizens" 
were.   We  saw  crowds  of  soldiers  mixed  up  with  the 

396 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

lowest  rabble  in  the  town,  workingmen  in  dirty 
clothes,  newsboys,  ragged  children,  negroes,  and  even 
women  walking  in  the  procession,  while  swarms  of 
negroes  and  low  white  women  elbowed  each  other  in 
a  dense  mass  on  the  pavement.  To  see  such  crea- 
tures exulting  over  our  misfortune  was  enough  to 
make  one  scream  with  rage.  One  of  their  dozen  trans- 
parencies was  inscribed  with  "A  dead  Confederacy." 
Fools !  The  flames  are  smouldering !  They  will  burst 
out  presently  and  consume  you!  More  than  half, 
much  more,  were  negroes.  As  they  passed  here  they 
raised  a  yell  of  "Down  with  the  rebels!"  that  made 
us  gnash  our  teeth  in  silence.  The  Devil  possessed 
me.  "O  Miriam,  help  me  pray  the  dear  Lord  that 
their  flag  may  burn!"  I  whispered  as  the  torches 
danced  around  it.  And  we  did  pray  earnestly — so 
earnestly  that  Miriam's  eyes  were  tightly  screwed 
up;  but  it  must  have  been  a  wicked  prayer,  for  it 
was  not  answered. 

Dr.  S has  out  a  magnificent  display  of  black 

cotton  grammatically  inscribed  with  "Port  Hudson 
and  Vicksburg  is  ours,"  garnished  with  a  luminous 
row  of  tapers,  and,  drunk  on  two  bits'  worth  of  lager 
beer,  he  has  been  shrieking  out  all  Union  songs  he 
can  think  of  with  his  horrid  children  until  my  tym- 
panum is  perfectly  cracked.  Miriam  wants  to  offer 
him  an  extra  bottle  of  lager  for  the  two  places  of 
which  he  claims  the  monopoly.  He  would  sell  his 
creed  for  less.  Miriam  is  dying  to  ask  him  what  he 
has  done  with  the  Confederate  uniform  he  sported 

397 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

before  the  Yankees  came.  His  son  says  they  are  all 
Union  men  over  there,  and  will  "lemonate"  (illu- 
minate) to-night.  A  starving  seamstress  opposite  has 
stuck  six  tallow  candles  in  her  window;  better  put 
them  in  her  stomach! 

And  I  won't  believe  Vicksburg  has  surrendered! 
Port  Hudson  I  am  sure  has  fallen.  Alas,  for  all  hopes 
of  serving  the  brave  creatures !  the  rumor  is  that  they 
have  been  released  on  parole.  Happily  for  them ;  but 
if  it  must  go,  what  a  blessed  privilege  it  would  have 
been  to  aid  or  comfort  them ! 

Wednesday,  July  15th. 

It  is  but  too  true;  both  have  fallen.  All  Port  Hud- 
son privates  have  been  paroled,  and  the  officers  sent 
here  for  exchange.  Aye!  Aye!  I  know  some  pri- 
vates I  would  rather  see  than  the  officers!  As  yet, 
only  ten  that  we  know  have  arrived.  All  are  con- 
fined in  the  Custom- House.  Last  evening  crowds 
surrounded  the  place.  We  did  something  dreadful, 
Ada  Peirce,  Miriam,  and  I.  We  went  down  to  the 
confectionery;  and  unable  to  resist  the  temptation, 
made  a  detour  by  the  Custom-House  in  hope  of 
seeing  one  of  our  poor  dear  half-starved  mule  and  rat 
fed  defenders.  The  crowd  had  passed  away  then ;  but 
what  was  our  horror  when  we  emerged  from  the  river 
side  of  the  building  and  turned  into  Canal,  to  find  the 
whole  front  of  the  pavement  lined  with  Yankees! 
Our  folly  struck  us  so  forcibly  that  we  were  almost 
paralyzed  with  fear.  However,  that  did  not  prevent 

398 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

us  from  endeavoring  to  hurry  past,  though  I  felt  as 
though  walking  in  a  nightmare.  Ada  was  brave 
enough  to  look  up  at  a  window  where  several  of  our 
prisoners  were  standing,  and  kept  urging  us  to  do 
likewise.  "Look!  He  knows  you,  Sarah!  He  has 
called  another  to  see  you !  They  both  recognize  you ! 
Oh,  look,  please,  and  tell  me  who  they  are!  They  are 
watching  you  still!"  she  would  exclaim.  But  if  my 
own  dear  brother  stood  there,  I  could  not  have 
raised  my  eyes;  we  only  hurried  on  faster,  with  a 
hundred  Yankees  eyes  fixed  on  our  flying  steps. 

My  friend  Colonel  Steadman  was  one  of  the  com- 
missioners for  arranging  the  terms  of  the  capitula- 
tion, I  see.   He  has  not  yet  arrived. 

Dreadful  news  has  come  of  the  defeat  of  Lee  at 
Gettysburg.  Think  I  believe  it  all?  He  may  have 
been  defeated ;  but  not  one  of  these  reports  of  total 
overthrow  and  rout  do  I  credit.  Yankees  jubilant, 
Southerners  dismal.  Brother,  with  principles  on  one 
side  and  brothers  on  the  other,  is  correspondingly 
distracted. 

Saturday,  July  18th. 

It  may  be  wrong;  I  feel  very  contrite;  but  still  I 
cannot  help  thinking  it  is  an  error  on  the  right  side. 
It  began  by  Miriam  sending  Mr.  Conn  a  box  of 
cigars  when  she  was  on  Canal  the  other  day,  with  a 
note  saying  we  would  be  delighted  to  assist  him  in 
any  way.  Poor  creature !  He  wrote  an  answer  which 
breathed  desolation  and  humility,  under  his  present 

399 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

situation,  in  every  line.  The  cigars,  an  unexpected 
kindness,  had  touched  a  tender  cord  evidently.  He 
said  he  had  no  friends,  and  would  be  grateful  for  our 
assistance. 

But  before  his  answer  arrived,  yesterday  morning 
I  took  it  into  my  head  that  Colonel  Steadman  was 
also  at  the  Custom-House,  though  his  arrival  had  not 
been  announced,  the  Yankees  declining  to  publish 
any  more  names  to  avoid  the  excitement  that  fol- 
lows. So  Miriam  and  I  prepared  a  lunch  of  chicken, 
soup,  wine,  preserves,  sardines,  and  cakes,  to  send 
to  him.  And,  fool-like,  I  sent  a  note  with  it.  It  only 
contained  the  same  offer  of  assistance ;  and  I  would 
not  object  to  the  town  crier's  reading  it ;  but  it  upset 
Brother's  ideas  of  decorum  completely.  He  said 
nothing  to  Miriam's,  because  that  was  first  offense; 
but  yesterday  he  met  Edmond,  who  was  carrying 
the  basket,  and  he  could  not  stand  the  sight  of 
another  note.  I  wish  he  had  read  it!  But  he  said  he 
would  not  assume  such  a  right.  So  he  came  home 
very  much  annoyed,  and  spoke  to  Miriam  about  it. 
Fortunately  for  my  peace  of  mind,  I  was  swimming 
in  the  bathtub  in  blissful  unconsciousness,  else  I 
should  have  drowned  myself.  He  said,  "I  want  you 
both  to  understand  that  you  shall  have  everything 
you  want  for  the  prisoners.  Subscribe  any  sum  of 
money,  purchase  any  quantity  of  clothing,  send  all 
the  food  you  please,  but,  for  God's  sake,  don't  write 
to  them !  In  such  a  place  every  man  knows  the  other 
has  received  a  letter,  and  none  know  what  it  con- 

400 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

tains.  I  cannot  have  my  sisters'  names  in  every- 
body's mouth.  Never  do  it  again ! "  All  as  kind  and 
as  considerate  for  us  as  ever,  and  a  necessary  cau- 
tion; I  love  him  the  better  for  it;  but  I  was  dismayed 
for  having  rendered  the  reproof  necessary.  For  three 
hours  I  made  the  most  hideous  faces  at  myself  and 
groaned  aloud  over  Brother's  displeasure.  He  is  so 
good  that  I  would  rather  bite  my  tongue  off  than 
give  him  a  moment's  pain.  Just  now  I  went  to  him, 
unable  to  keep  silence  any  longer,  and  told  him  how 
distressed  I  was  to  have  displeased  him  about  that 
note.  "Don't  think  any  more  about  it,  only  don't 
do  it  again,  dear,"  was  his  answer.  I  was  so  grateful 
to  him  for  his  gentleness  that  I  was  almost  hurried 
into  a  story.  I  began,  "  It  is  the  first  time  — "  when 
I  caught  myself  and  said  boldly,  "No,  it  is  not. 
Colonel  Steadman  has  written  to  me  before,  and  I 
have  replied.  But  I  promise  to  you  it  shall  not  occur 
again  if  I  can  avoid  it."  He  was  satisfied  with  the 
acknowledgment,  and  I  was  more  than  gratified 
with  his  kindness.  Yet  the  error  must  have  been  on 
the  right  side! 

Colonel  Steadman  wrote  back  his  thanks  by 
Edmond,  with  heartfelt  gratitude  for  finding  such 
friends  in  his  adversity,  and  touching  acknowledg- 
ments of  the  acceptable  nature  of  the  lunch.  His 
brother  and  Colonel  Lock  were  wounded,  though 
recovering,  and  he  was  anxious  to  know  if  I  had  yet 
recovered.  And  that  was  all,  except  that  he  hoped 
we  would  come  to  see  him,  and  his  thanks  to  Brother 

401 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

for  his  kind  message.  Brother  had  sent  him  word  by 
one  of  the  prisoners  that  though  he  was  not  ac- 
quainted with  him,  yet  as  his  sisters'  friend  he  would 
be  happy  to  assist  him  if  he  needed  money  or  cloth- 
ing. There  was  no  harm  in  either  note,  and  though 
I  would  not  do  it  again,  I  am  almost  glad  I  let  him 
know  he  still  had  friends  before  Brother  asked  me 
not  to  write. 

And  as  yet  we  can't  see  them.  A  man  was  bayon- 
eted yesterday  for  waving  to  them,  even.  It  only 
makes  us  the  more  eager  to  see  them.  We  did  see 
some.  Walking  on  Rampart  Street  with  the  Peirces 
yesterday,  in  front  of  a  splendid  private  house,  we 
saw  sentinels  stationed.  Upon  inquiry  we  learned 
that  General  Gardiner  and  a  dozen  others  were  con- 
fined there.  Ada  and  Miriam  went  wild.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  dignified  Marie,  and  that  model  of  pro- 
priety, Sarah,  there  is  no  knowing  but  what  they 
would  have  carried  the  house  by  storm.  We  got 
them  by  without  seeing  a  gray  coat,  when  they 
vowed  to  pass  back,  declaring  that  the  street  was  not 
respectable  on  the  block  above.  We  had  to  follow. 
So!  there  they  all  stood  on  the  balcony  above.  We 
thought  we  recognized  General  Gardiner,  Major 
Wilson,  Major  Spratley,  and  Mr.  Dupre.  Miriam 
was  sure  she  did ;  but  even  when  I  put  on  a  bold  face, 
and  tried  to  look,  something  kept  me  from  seeing; 
so  I  had  all  the  appearance  of  staring,  without 
deriving  the  slightest  benefit  from  it.  Wonder  what 
makes  me  such  a  fool? 

402 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Mr.  Conn  writes  that  Captain  Bradford  is 
wounded,  but  does  not  say  whether  he  is  here. 

Thursday,  July  23d. 

It  is  bad  policy  to  keep  us  from  seeing  the  prison- 
ers; it  just  sets  us  wild  about  them.  Put  a  creature 
you  don't  care  for  in  the  least,  in  a  situation  that 
commands  sympathy,  and  nine  out  of  ten  girls  will 
fall  desperately  in  love.  Here  are  brave,  self-sacri- 
ficing, noble  men  who  have  fought  heroically  for  us, 
and  have  been  forced  to  surrender  by  unpropitious 
fate,  confined  in  a  city  peopled  by  their  friends  and 
kindred,  and  as  totally  isolated  from  them  as  though 
they  inhabited  the  Dry  Tortugas!  Ladies  are  natu- 
rally hero-worshipers.  We  are  dying  to  show  these 
unfortunates  that  we  are  as  proud  of  their  bravery 
as  though  it  had  led  to  victory  instead  of  defeat. 
Banks  wills  that  they  remain  in  privacy.  Conse- 
quently our  vivid  imaginations  are  constantly  occu- 
pied in  depicting  their  sufferings,  privations,  hero- 
ism, and  manifold  virtues,  until  they  have  almost 
become  as  demigods  to  us.  Even  horrid  little  Cap- 
tain C has  a  share  of  my  sympathy  in  his 

misfortune !  Fancy  what  must  be  my  feelings  where 
those  I  consider  as  gentlemen  are  concerned!  It  is 
all  I  can  do  to  avoid  a  most  tender  compassion  for  a 
very  few  select  ones.  Miriam  and  I  are  looked  on 
with  envy  by  other  young  ladies  because  some 
twenty  or  thirty  of  our  acquaintance  have  already 
arrived.    To  know  a  Port  Hudson  defender  is  con- 

403 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary" 

sidered  as  the  greatest  distinction  one  need  desire. 
If  they  would  only  let  us  see  the  prisoners  once  to 
sympathize  with,  and  offer  to  assist  them,  we  would 
never  care  to  call  on  them  again  until  they  are  liber- 
ated. But  this  is  aggravating.  Of  what  benefit  is  it 
to  send  them  lunch  after  lunch,  when  they  seldom 
receive  it?  Colonel  Steadman  and  six  others,  I  am 
sure,  did  not  receive  theirs  on  Sunday.  We  sent  with 
the  baskets  a  number  of  cravats  and  some  handker- 
chiefs I  had  embroidered  for  the  Colonel. 

Brother  should  forbid  those  gentlemen  writing, 
too.  Already  a  dozen  notes  have  been  received  from 
them,  and  what  can  we  do?  We  can't  tell  them  not  to. 
Miriam  received  a  letter  from  Major  Spratley  this 
morning,  raving  about  the  kindness  of  the  ladies  of 
New  Orleans,  full  of  hope  of  future  successes,  and 
vows  to  help  deliver  the  noble  ladies  from  the  hands 
of  their  oppressors,  etc.  It  is  a  wonder  that  such  a 
patriotic  effusion  could  be  smuggled  out.  He  kindly 
assures  us  that  not  only  those  of  our  acquaintance 
there,  but  all  their  brother  officers,  would  be  more 
than  happy  to  see  us  in  their  prison.  Position  of 
affairs  rather  reversed  since  we  last  met! 


BOOK  V 

New  Orleans,  August,  1863. 
Friday,  14th. 

Doomed  to  be  bored!  To-night  Miriam  drags  me 
to  a  soiree  musicale,  and  in  the  midst  of  my  toilet,  I 
sit  down  with  bare  shoulders  to  scratch  a  dozen  lines 
in  my  new  treasure  which  has  been  by  me  for  three 
days,  untouched.  I  don't  know  what  tempts  me  to 
do  it  except  perversity;  for  I  have  nothing  to  say. 

I  was  in  hopes  that  I  would  never  have  occasion  to 
refer  to  the  disagreeable  subject  that  occupied  the 
last  pages  of  my  old  journal,  but  the  hope  proves 
fallacious,  and  wherever  I  turn,  the  same  subject  is 
renewed.  So  there  is  no  longer  any  reason  in  waiting 
until  all  mention  can  be  avoided.  Yesterday  a  little, 
sly,  snaky  creature  asked  me  if  I  knew  "  the  Hero  of 
Port  Hudson."  "Yes,"  I  said  briefly.  "Unmistak- 
able! I  see  it  in  your  face!"  she  remarked.  "See 
what?"  "That  you  betray  yourself.  Do  you  know 
that  every  one  believes  that  you  are  engaged  to 
him?"  In  surprise  I  said  no;  such  a  thing  had  never 
been  mentioned  before  me  until  then.  "Well!  they 
say  so,  and  add,  too,  that  you  are  to  be  married  as 
soon  as  the  war  is  over."  " '  They '  are  paying  me  an 
undeserved  compliment,"  I  returned.  Where  could 
such  a  report  have  originated?  Not  certainly  from 
him,  and  not,  most  assuredly,  from  me.  Where  does 

405 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Dame  rumor  spring  from?  He  is  a  stranger  here,  and 
I  have  never  mentioned  his  name  except  to  the  Peirces, 
who  would  no  more  report  such  a  thing  than  I  would 
myself.  I  won't  mind  it  if  it  does  not  reach  his  ears; 
but  what  assurance  have  I  that  it  will  not?  That 
would  be  unpleasant!  Why  can't  "they  say"  let 
everybody  settle  their  own  affairs? 

Here  comes  Miriam  after  me!  What  a  bore! 
What  a  bore!  And  she  looks  as  though  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  go  out!  How  I  hate  it! 

Glancing  up  the  page,  the  date  strikes  my  eye. 
What  tempted  me  to  begin  it  Friday?  My  dear  Ada 
would  shiver  and  declare  the  blank  pages  were 
reserved  for  some  very  painful,  awful,  uncomfort- 
able record,  or  that  "something"  would  happen 
before  the  end  of  it.  Nothing  very  exciting  can 
happen,  except  the  restoration  of  peace;  and  to 
bring  that  about,  I  would  make  a  vow  to  write  only 

on  Fridays. 

Sunday,  16th. 

Coming  out  of  church  this  morning  with  Miriam, 
a  young  lady  ran  up  with  an  important  air,  as 
though  about  to  create  a  sensation.  "  I  have  a  mes- 
sage for  you  both,"  she  said,  fixing  her  eyes  on  mine 
as  though  she  sought  something  in  them.  "I  visit 
the  prisoners  frequently,  you  know,  and  day  before 
yesterday  Captain  Steadman  requested  me  to  beg 
you  to  call,  that  he  will  not  take  a  refusal,  but  en- 
treated you  to  come,  if  it  were  only  once."  The  fates 
must  be  against  me ;  I  had  almost  forgotten  his  exist- 

406 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ence,  and  having  received  the  same  message  fre- 
quently from  another,  I  thoughtlessly  said,  "You 
mean  Colonel,  do  you  not?"  Fortunately  Miriam 
asked  the  same  question  at  the  instant  that  I  was 
beginning  to  believe  I  had  done  something  very 
foolish.  The  lady  looked  at  me  with  her  calm,  scru- 
tinizing, disagreeable  smile  —  a  smile  that  had  all 
the  unpleasant  insinuations  eyes  and  lips  can  con- 
vey, a  smile  that  looked  like  "  I  have  your  secret  — 
you  can't  deceive  me"  —  and  said  with  her  piercing 
gaze,  "  No,  not  the  Colonel.  He  was  very  ill  that  day 
(did  you  know  it?)  and  could  not  see  us.  This  was 
really  the  Captain."  "He  is  very  kind,"  I  stam- 
mered, and  suggested  to  Miriam  that  we  had  better 
pass  on.  The  lady  was  still  eyeing  me  inquisitively. 
Decidedly,  this  is  unpleasant  to  have  the  reputation 
of  being  engaged  to  a  man  that  every  girl  is  crazy 
to  win !  If  one  only  cared  for  him,  it  would  not  be  so 
unpleasant;  but  under  the  circumstances,  —  ah  cal 
why  don't  they  make  him  over  to  the  young  lady 
whose  father  openly  avows  he  would  be  charmed  to 
have  him  for  a  son-in-law?  This  report  has  cost  me 
more  than  one  impertinent  stare.  The  young  ladies 
think  it  a  very  enviable  position.  Let  some  of  them 
usurp  it,  then! 

So  the  young  lady,  not  having  finished  her  exam- 
ination, proposed  to  accompany  us  part  of  the  way. 
As  a  recompense,  we  were  regaled  with  charming 
little  anecdotes  about  herself,  and  her  visits.  How 
she  had  sent  a  delightful  little  custard  to  the  Colonel 

407 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

(here  was  a  side  glance  at  my  demure  face)  and  had 
carried  an  autographic  album  in  her  last  visit,  and 
had  insisted  on  their  inscribing  their  names,  and 
writing  a  verse  or  so.  "How  interesting!"  was  my 
mental  comment.  "Can  a  man  respect  a  woman 
who  thrusts  him  her  album,  begging  for  a  compli- 
ment the  first  time  they  meet?  What  fools  they  must 
think  us,  if  they  take  such  as  these  for  specimens  of 
the  genus!" 

Did  we  know  Captain  Lanier?  Know  him,  no! 
but  how  vividly  his  face  comes  before  me  when  I 
look  back  to  that  grand  smash-up  at  Port  Hudson, 
when  his  face  was  the  last  I  saw  before  being  thrown, 
and  the  first  I  recognized  when  I  roused  myself  from 
my  stupor  and  found  myself  in  the  arms  of  the 
young  Alabamian.  At  the  sound  of  his  name,  I  fairly 
saw  the  last  ray  of  sunset  flashing  over  his  handsome 
face,  as  I  saw  it  then.  No,  I  did  not  know  him.  He 
had  spoken  to  me,  begging  to  be  allowed  to  hold  me, 
and  I  had  answered,  entreating  him  not  to  touch 
me,  and  that  was  all  I  knew  of  him ;  but  she  did  not 
wait  for  the  reply.  She  hurried  on  to  say  that  she 
had  sent  him  a  bouquet,  with  a  piece  of  poetry,  and 
that  he  had  been  heard  to  exclaim,  "How  beauti- 
ful!" on  reading  it.  "And  do  you  know,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  an  air  that  was  meant  to  be  charmingly 
naif,  but  which  was  not  very  successful,  as  naivet§ 
at  twenty-nine  is  rather  flat,  "I  am  so  much  afraid 
he  thinks  it  original!  I  forgot  to  put  quotation 
marks,  and  it  would  be  so  funny  in  him  to  make  the 

408 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

mistake!  For  you  know  I  have  not  much  of  the  — 
of  that  sort  of  thing  about  me  —  I  am  not  a  poet  — 
poetess,  author,  you  know."  Said  Miriam  in  her 
blandest  tone,  without  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  her 
voice,  "Oh,  if  he  has  ever  seen  you,  the  mistake  is 
natural!"  If  I  had  spoken,  my  voice  would  have 
carried  a  sting  in  it.  So  I  waited  until  I  could  calmly 
say,  "You  know  him  well,  of  course."  "No,  I  never 
saw  him  before!"  she  answered  with  a  new  outburst 

of  naivete. 

Monday,  August  24th. 

A  letter  from  Captain  Bradford  to  Miriam.  My 
poor  Adonis,  that  I  used  to  ridicule  so  unmercifully, 
what  misfortunes  have  befallen  him !  He  writes  that 
during  the  siege  at  Port  Hudson  he  had  the  top  of 
his  ear  shot  off  (wonder  if  he  lost  any  of  that  beauti- 
ful golden  fleece  yclept  his  hair?),  and  had  the  cap 
of  his  knee  removed  by  a  shell,  besides  a  third  wound 
he  does  not  specify.  Fortunately  he  is  with  kind 
friends.  And  he  gives  news  of  Lydia,  most  accept- 
able since  such  a  time  has  elapsed  since  we  heard 
from  her.  .  .  .  He  says,  "Tell  Miss  Sarah  that  the 
last  I  saw  of  John,  he  was  crossing  the  Mississippi  in 
a  skiff,  his  parole  in  his  pocket,  his  sweet  little  sister 
by  his  side,"  (O  you  wretch!  at  it  again!)  "and 
Somebody  else  in  his  heart."  How  considerate  to 
volunteer  the  last  statement!  Then  followed  half  a 
page  of  commendation  for  his  bravery,  daring,  and 
skill  during  the  siege  (the  only  kind  word  he  ever 
spoke  of  him,  I  dare  say),  all  looking  as  though  I 

409 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

was  to  take  it  as  an  especial  compliment  to  myself, 
and  was  expected  to  look  foolish,  blush,  and  say 
"Thanky"  for  it.  As  though  I  care! 

Monday  night. 

I  consider  myself  outrageously  imposed  upon!  I 
am  so  indignant  that  I  have  spent  a  whole  evening 
making  faces  at  myself.  "Please,  Miss  Sarah,  look 
natural ! "  William  petitions.  "  I  never  saw  you  look 
cross  before."  Good  reason!  I  never  had  more 
cause!  However,  I  stop  in  the  midst  of  a  hideous 
grimace,  and  join  in  a  game  of  hide  the  switch  with 
the  children  to  forget  my  annoyance. 

Of  course  a  woman  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Last 
night  while  Ada  and  Marie  were  here,  a  young  lady 
whose  name  I  decline  to  reveal  for  the  sake  of  the 
sex,  stopped  at  the  door  with  an  English  officer,  and 
asked  to  see  me  in  the  entry.  I  had  met  her  once 
before.  Remember  this,  for  that  is  the  chief  cause 
of  my  anger.  Of  course  they  were  invited  in ;  but  she 
declined,  saying  she  had  but  a  moment,  and  had  a 
message  to  deliver  to  me  alone,  so  led  me  apart. 
"Of  course  you  know  who  it  is  from?"  she  began.  I 
told  a  deliberate  falsehood,  and  said  no,  though  I 
guessed  instantly.  She  told  me  the  name  then.  She 
had  visited  the  prison  the  day  before,  and  there  had 
met  the  individual  whose  name,  joined  to  mine,  has 
given  me  more  trouble  and  annoyance  during  the 
last  few  months  than  it  would  be  possible  to  men- 
tion. "And  our  entire  conversation  was  about  you," 

410 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

she  said,  as  though  to  flatter  my  vanity  immensely. 
He  told  her  then  that  he  had  written  repeatedly 
to  me,  without  receiving  an  answer,  and  at  last  had 
written  again,  in  which  he  had  used  some  expressions 
which  he  feared  had  offended  my  reserved  disposi- 
tion. Something  had  made  me  angry,  for  without 
returning  letter  or  message  to  say  I  was  not  dis- 
pleased, I  had  maintained  a  resolute  silence,  which 
had  given  him  more  pain  and  uneasiness  than  he 
could  say.  That  during  all  this  time  he  had  had  no 
opportunity  of  explaining  it  to  me,  and  that  now  he 
begged  her  to  tell  me  that  he  would  not  offend  me 
for  worlds  —  that  he  admired  me  more  than  any  one 
he  had  ever  met,  that  he  could  not  help  saying  what 
he  did,  but  was  distressed  at  offending  me,  etc.  The 
longest  explanation!  And  she  was  directed  to  beg 
me  to  explain  my  silence,  and  let  him  know  if  I  was 
really  offended,  and  also  leave  no  entreaty  or  argu- 
ment untried  to  induce  me  to  visit  the  prison;  he 
must  see  me. 

As  to  visiting  the  prison,  I  told  her  that  was  im- 
possible. (0  how  glad  I  am  that  I  never  did !)  But 
as  to  the  letters,  told  her  "to  assure  him  that  I  had 
not  thought  of  them  in  that  light,  and  had  passed 
over  the  expressions  he  referred  to  as  idle  words  it 
would  be  ridiculous  to  take  offense  at;  and  that  my 
only  reason  for  persevering  in  this  silence  had  been 
that  Brother  disapproved  of  my  writing  to  gentle- 
men, and  I  had  promised  that  I  would  not  write  to 
him.   That  I  had  feared  he  would  misconstrue  my 

411 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

silence,  and  had  wished  to  explain  it  to  him,  but  I 
had  no  means  of  doing  so  except  by  breaking  my 
promise;  and  so  had  preferred  leaving  all  explana- 
tion to  time,  and  some  future  opportunity." 

"But  you  did  not  mean  to  pain  him,  did  you?" 
the  dear  little  creature  coaxingly  lisped,  standing 
on  tiptoe  to  kiss  me  as  she  spoke.  I  assured  her  that 
I  had  not.  "He  has  been  dangerously  ill,"  she  con- 
tinued, apologizingly,  "and  sickness  has  made  him 
more  morbid  and  more  unhappy  about  it  than  he 
would  otherwise  have  been.  It  has  distressed  him  a 
great  deal." 

I  felt  awkwardly.  How  was  it  that  this  girl,  meet- 
ing him  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  her  life,  had 
contrived  to  learn  so  much  that  she  had  no  right  to 
know,  and  appeared  here  as  mediator  between  two 
who  were  strangers  to  her,  so  far  usurping  a  place 
she  was  not  entitled  to,  as  to  apologize  to  me  for  his 
sensitiveness,  and  to  entreat  me  to  tell  him  he  had 
not  forfeited  my  esteem,  as  though  she  was  his  most 
intimate  friend,  and  I  a  passing  acquaintance?  Fail- 
ing to  comprehend  it,  I  deferred  it  to  a  leisure  mo- 
ment to  think  over,  and  in  the  mean  time  exerted 
myself  to  be  affable. 

I  can't  say  half  she  spoke  of,  but  as  she  was  going 
she  said,  "Then  will  you  give  me  permission  to  say 
as  many  sweet  things  for  you  as  I  can  think  of?  I  'm 
going  there  to-morrow."  I  told  her  I  would  be  afraid 
to  give  her  carte  blanche  on  such  a  subject;  but  that 
she  would  really  oblige  me  by  explaining  about  the 

412 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

letters.  She  promised,  and  after  another  kiss,  and  a 
few  whispered  words,  left  me. 

Maybe  she  exaggerated,  though!  Uncharitable 
as  the  supposition  was,  it  was  a  consolation.  I  was 
unwilling  to  believe  that  any  one  who  professed  to 
esteem  me  would  make  me  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion with  a  stranger  —  and  such  a  conversation! 
So  my  comfort  was  only  in  hoping  that  she  had  re- 
lated a  combination  of  truth  and  fiction,  and  that 
he  had  not  been  guilty  of  such  folly. 

Presently  it  grew  clearer  to  me.  I  must  be  grow- 
ing in  wickedness,  to  fathom  that  of  others,  I  who  so 
short  a  time  ago  disbelieved  in  the  very  existence  of 
such  a  thing.  I  remembered  having  heard  that  the 
young  lady  and  her  family  were  extremely  anxious 
to  form  his  acquaintance,  and  that  her  cousin  had 
coolly  informed  Ada  that  she  had  selected  him 
among  all  others,  and  meant  to  have  him  for  a' '  beau ' ' 
as  soon  as  she  could  be  introduced  to  him ;  I  remem- 
bered that  the  young  lady  herself  had  been  very 
anxious  to  discover  whether  the  reputation  common 
report  had  given  me  had  any  foundation. 

As  soon  as  we  were  alone,  I  told  mother  of  our 
conversation  in  the  entry,  and  said,  "And  now  I  am 
certain  that  this  girl  has  made  use  of  my  name  to 
become  acquainted  with  him." 

Thursday,  ioth  September. 
0  my  prophetic  soul!  part  of  your  forebodings  are 
already  verified !  And  in  what  an  unpleasant  way ! 

4i3 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Day  before  yesterday  an  English  officer,  not  the 
one  who  came  here,  but  one  totally  unknown  to  me, 
said  at  Mrs.  Peirce's  he  was  going  to  visit  the  Con- 
federate prisoners.  He  was  asked  if  he  knew  any. 
Slightly,  he  said ;  but  he  was  going  this  time  by  re- 
quest ;  he  had  any  quantity  of  messages  to  deliver  to 

Colonel from  Miss  Sarah  Morgan.   "How  can 

that  be  possible,  since  you  are  not  acquainted  with 
her?  "  Ada  demanded.  He  had  the  impudence  to  say 
that  the  young  lady  I  have  already  mentioned  had 
requested  him  to  deliver  them  for  her,  since  she 
found  it  impossible.  Fortunately  for  me,  I  have  two 
friends  left.  Feeling  the  indelicacy  of  the  thing,  and 
knowing  that  there  must  be  some  mistake  that  might 
lead  to  unpleasant  consequences,  Ada  and  Marie, 
my  good  angels,  insisted  on  hearing  the  messages. 
At  first  he  refused,  saying  that  they  were  entrusted 
to  him  confidentially;  but  being  assured  that  they 
were  really  intimate  with  me,  whereas  the  other  was 
a  perfect  stranger,  and  that  I  would  certainly  not 
object  to  their  hearing  what  I  could  tell  a  gentle- 
man, he  yielded,  fortunately  for  my  peace  of  mind, 
and  told  all. 

I  can't  repeat  it.  I  was  too  horrified  to  hear  all, 
when  they  told  me.  What  struck  me  as  being  most 
shocking  was  my  distorted  explanation  about  the 
letters.  It  now  set  forth  that  I  was  not  allowed  to 
write  myself,  but  would  be  happy  to  have  him  write 
to  me ;  then  there  was  an  earnest  assurance  that  my 
feelings  toward  him  had  not  changed  in  the  least  — 

414 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Here  I  sprang  from  my  chair  and  rushed  to  the 
window  for  a  breath  of  air,  wringing  my  hands  in 
speechless  distress.  How  a  word  more  or  less,  an 
idea  omitted  or  added,  a  syllable  misplaced,  can 
transform  a  whole  sentence,  and  make  what  was 
before  harmless,  really  shocking! 

And  if  it  had  not  been  for  Ada  and  Marie  — ! 
Blessed  angels !  they  entreated  him  not  to  deliver  any 
of  his  messages,  insisting  that  there  must  be  a  mis- 
take, that  if  he  knew  me  he  would  understand  that 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  have  sent  such  a  message 
by  a  stranger.  And  although  at  first  he  declared  he 
felt  obliged  to  discharge  the  task  imposed  on  him, 
they  finally  succeeded  in  persuading  him  to  relin- 
quish the  errand,  promising  to  be  responsible  for  the 
consequences. 

"Ah  me!"  I  gasped  last  night,  making  frantic 
grimaces  in  the  dark,  and  pinching  myself  in  dis- 
gust, "why  can't  they  let  me  alone?  .  .  .  O  women  — 
women!  I  wish  he  could  marry  all  of  you,  so  you 
would  let  me  alone!  Take  him,  please;  but  en  grdce 
don't  disgrace  me  in  the  excitement  of  the  race!" 

Friday,  25th. 

Write  me  down  a  witch,  a  prophetess,  or  what 
you  will.  I  am  certainly  something!  All  has  come 
to  pass  on  that  very  disagreeable  subject  very  much 
as  I  feared.  Perhaps  no  one  in  my  position  would 
speak  freely  on  the  subject;  for  that  very  reason  I 
shall  not  hesitate  to  discuss  it. 

415 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Know,  then,  that  this  morning,  He  went  North 
along  with  many  other  Confederate  prisoners,  to  be 
exchanged.  And  he  left  —  he  who  has  written  so 
incessantly  and  so  imploringly  for  me  to  visit  his 
prison  —  he  left  without  seeing  me.  Bon!  Wonder 
what  happened? 


Evening. 

I  have  learned  more.  He  has  not  yet  left ;  part  of 
the  mystery  is  unraveled,  only  I  have  neither  pa- 
tience nor  desire  to  seek  for  more.  These  women  — ! 
Hush!  to  slander  is  too  much  like  them;  be 
yourself. 

My  sweet  little  lisper  informed  a  select  circle  of 
friends  the  other  night,  when  questioned,  that  the 
individual  had  not  called  on  me,  and,  what  was  more, 
would  not  do  so.  "Pray,  how  do  you  happen  to  be 
so  intimately  acquainted  with  the  affairs  of  two  who 
are  strangers  to  you?"  asked  a  lady  present.  She 
declined  saying  how  she  had  obtained  her  informa- 
tion, only  asserting  that  it  was  so.  "In  fact,  you 
cannot  expect  any  Confederate  gentleman  to  call  at 
the  house  of  Judge  Morgan,  a  professed  Unionist," 
she  continued.  So  that  is  the  story  she  told  to  keep 
him  from  seeing  me.  She  has  told  him  that  we  had 
turned  Yankees!  All  her  arts  would  not  grieve  me 
as  much  as  one  word  against  Brother.  My  wrongs 
I  can  forget ;  but  one  word  of  contempt  for  Brother  I 
never  forgive!  White  with  passion  I  said  to  my  in- 

416 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

formant,  "Will  you  inform  the  young  lady  that  her 
visit  will  never  be  returned,  that  she  is  requested  not 
to  repeat  hers,  and  that  I  decline  knowing  any  one 
who  dares  cast  the  slightest  reflection  on  the  name  of 
one  who  has  been  both  father  and  brother  to  me!" 
This  evening  I  was  at  a  house  where  she  was  an- 
nounced. Miriam  and  I  bade  our  hostess  good- 
evening  and  left  without  speaking  to  her.  Anybody 
but  Brother!  No  one  shall  utter  his  name  before  me 
save  with  respect  and  regard. 

This  young  woman's  father  is  a  Captain  in  the 
Yankee  navy,  and  her  brother  is  a  Captain  in  the 
Yankee  army,  while  three  other  brothers  are  in  the 
Confederate.  Like  herself,  I  have  three  brothers 
fighting  for  the  South ;  unlike  her,  the  only  brother 
who  avows  himself  a  Unionist  has  too  much  regard 
for  his  family  to  take  up  arms  against  his  own  flesh 
and  blood. 

Tuesday,  October  6th. 

I  hope  this  will  be  the  last  occasion  on  which  I 
shall  refer  to  the  topic  to  which  this  unfortunate 
book  seems  to  have  been  devoted.  But  it  gives  me  a 
grim  pleasure  to  add  a  link  to  the  broken  chain  of  the 
curious  story,  now  and  then.  Maybe  some  day  the 
missing  links  will  be  supplied  me,  and  then  I  can 
read  the  little  humdrum  romance  of  What  might 
have  been,  or  What  I  'm  glad  never  was,  as  easily  as 
Marie  tells  her  rosary. 

Well!  the  prisoners  have  gone  at  last,  to  my 
4i7 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

unspeakable  satisfaction.  Day  before  yesterday  they 
left.  Now  I  can  go  out  as  I  please,  without  fear  of 
meeting  him  face  to  face.  How  odd  that  I  should  feel 
like  a  culprit!  But  that  is  in  accordance  with  my 
usual  judgment  and  consistency.  Friday,  I  had  a 
severe  fright.  Coming  up  Camp  Street  with  Ada, 
after  a  ramble  on  Canal,  we  met  two  Confederates. 
Everywhere  that  morning  we  had  met  gray  coats, 
but  none  that  I  recognized.  Still,  without  looking, 
I  saw  through  my  eyelids,  as  it  were,  two  hands 
timidly  touch  two  gray  caps,  as  though  the  question 
"May  I?"  had  not  yet  been  answered.  In  vain  I 
endeavored  to  meet  their  eyes,  or  give  the  faintest 
token  of  greeting.  I  was  too  frightened  and  embar- 
rassed to  speak,  and  only  by  a  desperate  effort  suc- 
ceeded in  bending  my  head  in  a  doubtful  bow,  that 
would  have  disgraced  a  dairy  maid,  after  we  had 
passed.  Then,  disgusted  with  myself,  I  endeavored 
to  be  comforted  with  the  idea  that  they  had  perhaps 
mistaken  me  for  some  one  else ;  that  having  known 
me  at  a  time  when  I  was  unable  to  walk,  they  could 
have  no  idea  of  my  height  and  figure,  or  walk.  So  I 
reasoned,  turning  down  a  side  street.  Lo!  at  a  re- 
spectable distance  they  were  following!  We  had 
occasion  to  go  into  a  daguerreau  salon.  While 
standing  in  the  light,  two  gray  uniforms,  watching 
us  from  the  dark  recess  at  the  door,  attracted  my 
attention.  Pointing  them  out  to  Ada,  I  hurried  her 
past  them  downstairs  to  the  street.  Faster  and  faster 
we  walked,  until  at  the  corner  I  turned  to  look. 

418 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

There  they  were  again,  sauntering  leisurely  along. 
We  turned  into  another  street,  mingled  in  the 
crowd,  and  finally  lost  sight  of  them.  That  fright 
lasted  me  an  hour  or  two.  Whose  purse  have  I 
stolen,  that  I  am  afraid  to  look  these  men  in  the 
face? 

But  what  has  this  to  do  with  what  I  meant  to  tell? 
How  loosely  and  disconnectedly  my  ideas  run  out 
with  the  ink  from  my  pen !  I  meant  to  say  how  sorry 
I  am  for  my  dear  little  lisper  that  she  failed  in  her 
efforts  to  conquer  the  "Hero";  and  here  I  have 
drifted  off  in  a  page  of  trash  that  does  not  concern 
her  in  the  least.  Well !  she  did  not  succeed,  and  what- 
ever she  told  him  was  told  in  vain,  as  far  as  she  was 
concerned.  He  was  not  to  be  caught!  What  an 
extraordinary  man !  Dozens  fighting  for  the  prefer- 
ence, and  he  in  real,  or  pretended  ignorance. 

I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  he  is  the  most 
guileless,  as  well  as  the  most  honest  of  mortals.  He 
told  the  mother  of  a  rich  and  pretty  daughter  what 
he  thought  of  me ;  that  my  superior  did  not  exist  on 
earth,  and  my  equal  he  had  never  met.  Ha!  ha!  this 
pathetic  story  makes  me  laugh  in  spite  of  myself.  Is 
it  excess  of  innocence,  or  just  a  r61e  he  adopted? 
Stop!  His  idle  word  is  as  good  as  an  oath.  He  could 
not  pretend  to  what  he  did  not  believe.  He  told  her 
of  his  earnest  and  sincere  admiration  —  words ! 
words!  hurry  on!  She  asked  how  it  was  then — ? 
Here  he  confessed,  with  a  mixture  of  pride  and  peni- 
tence, that  he  had  written  me  letters  which  abso- 

419 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

lutely  required  answers,  and  to  which  I  had  never 
deigned  to  reply  by  even  a  word.  That,  mortified 
beyond  measure  at  my  silent  contempt,  he  had 
tried  every  means  of  ascertaining  the  cause  of  my 
coldness,  but  I  had  never  vouchsafed  an  answer, 
but  had  left  him  to  feel  the  full  force  of  my  harsh 
treatment  without  one  word  of  explanation.  That 
when  he  was  paroled,  he  had  hoped  that  I  would  see 
him  to  tell  him  wherein  he  had  forfeited  my  esteem ; 
but  I  had  not  invited  him  to  call,  and  mortified  and 
repulsed  as  he  had  been,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
call  without  my  permission.  .  .  .  Did  my  little  lisper 
change  the  message  when  the  little  midshipman  told 
her  it  had  been  intercepted  because  too  friendly?  I 
know  she  met  this  martyred  Lion  frequently  after 
that  and  had  many  opportunities  of  telling  him  the 
simple  truth,  but  she  evidently  did  not. 

He  has  gone  away  with  sorely  wounded  feelings, 
to  say  nothing  more;  for  that  I  am  sincerely  sorry; 
but  I  trust  to  his  newly  acquired  freedom,  and  his 
life  of  danger  and  excitement,  to  make  him  forget 
the  wrongs  he  believes  himself  to  have  suffered  at 
my  hands.  If  it  was  all  to  be  gone  through  again 
(which  thank  Heaven,  I  will  never  be  called  upon  to 
endure  again),  I  would  follow  Brother's  advice  as 
implicitly  then  as  I  did  before.  He  is  right,  and 
without  seeing,  I  believe.  They  tell  me  of  his  altered 
looks,  and  of  his  forced,  reckless  gaiety  which,  so 
strangely  out  of  keeping  with  his  natural  character, 
but  makes  his  assumed  part  more  conspicuous.   No 

420 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

matter!  He  will  recover !  Nothing  like  a  sea  voyage 
for  disorders  of  all  kinds.  And  we  will  never  meet 
again;  that  is  another  consolation. 

"  Notice :  The  public  are  hereby  informed  through 

Mrs.  ,  Chief  Manager  of  the  Theatre  of  High 

Tragedy,  that  Miss  Sarah  M.,  having  been  proved 
unworthy  and  incompetent  to  play  the  r61e  of 
Ariadne,  said  part  will  hereafter  be  filled  by  Miss 
Blank,  of  Blank  Street,  who  plays  it  with  a  fidelity 
so  true  to  nature  that  she  could  hardly  be  surpassed 
by  the  original." 

Monday,  November  9th. 
Another  odd  link  of  the  old,  stale  story  has  come 
to  me,  all  the  way  from  New  York.  A  friend  of  mine, 
who  went  on  the  same  boat  with  the  prisoners,  wrote 
to  her  mother  to  tell  her  that  she  had  formed  the 
acquaintance  of  the  most  charming,  fascinating 
gentleman  among  them,  no  other  than  my  once 
friend.  Of  course,  she  would  have  been  less  than  a 
woman  if  she  had  not  gossiped  when  she  discovered 
who  he  was.  So  she  sends  me  word  that  he  told  her 
he  had  been  made  to  believe,  as  long  as  he  was  on 
parole  in  New  Orleans,  that  we  were  all  Unionists 
now,  and  that  Brother  would  not  allow  a  Confeder- 
ate to  enter  the  house.  (O  my  little  lisper,  was  I 
unjust  to  you?)  He  told  her  that  I  had  been  very 
kind  to  him  when  he  was  in  prison,  and  he  would 
have  forgotten  the  rest  and  gladly  have  called  to 
thank  me  in  person  for  the  kindness  he  so  gratefully 

421 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

remembered,  if  I  alone  had  been  concerned;  but  he 
felt  he  could  not  force  himself  unasked  into  my 
brother's  house.  .  .  . 
She  told  him  how  false  it  was. 

Sunday,  November  22d. 
A  report  has  just  reached  us  that  my  poor  dear 
Gibbes  has  been  taken  prisoner  along  with  the  rest 
of  Hayes's  brigade. 

November  26th. 
Yes!  It  is  so,  if  his  own  handwriting  is  any  proof. 
Mr.  Appleton  has  just  sent  Brother  a  letter  he  had 
received  from  Gibbes,  asking  him  to  let  Brother 
know  he  was  a  prisoner,  and  we  have  heard,  through 
some  one  else,  that  he  had  been  sent  to  Sandusky. 
Brother  has  applied  to  have  him  paroled  and  sent 
here,  or  even  imprisoned  here,  if  he  cannot  be 
paroled. 

Monday,  November  30th. 
Our  distress  about  Gibbes  has  been  somewhat 
relieved  by  good  news  from  Jimmy.  The  jolliest 
sailor  letter  from  him  came  this  morning,  dated 
only  the  4th  instant  from  Cherbourg,  detailing  his 
cruise  on  the  Georgia  from  leaving  England,  to 
Bahia,  Trinidad,  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  to  France 
again.  Such  a  bright,  dashing  letter!  We  laughed 
extravagantly  over  it  when  he  told  how  they  readily 
evaded  the  Vanderbilt,  knowing  she  would  knock 

422 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

them  into  "pie";  how  he  and  the  French  Captain 
quarreled  when  he  ordered  him  to  show  his  papers, 
and  how  he  did  not  know  French  abuse  enough  to 
enter  into  competition  with  him,  so  went  back  a 
first  and  second  time  to  Maury  when  the  man  would 
not  let  him  come  aboard,  whereupon  Maury  brought 
the  ship  to  with  two  or  three  shots  and  Jimmy  made 
a  third  attempt,  and  forced  the  Frenchman  to  show 
his  papers.  He  tells  it  in  such  a  matter-of-fact  way ! 
No  extravagance,  no  idea  of  having  been  in  a  danger- 
ous situation,  he  a  boy  of  eighteen,  on  a  French  ship 
in  spite  of  the  Captain's  rage.  What  a  jolly  life  it 
must  be!  Now  dashing  in  storms  and  danger,  now 
floating  in  sunshine  and  fun !  Wish  I  was  a  midship- 
man !  Then  how  he  changes,  in  describing  the  prize 
with  an  assorted  cargo  that  they  took,  which  con- 
tained all  things  from  a  needle  to  pianos,  from  the 
reckless  spurt  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  plundering, 
to  where  he  tells  of  how  the  Captain,  having  died 
several  days  before,  was  brought  on  the  Georgia 
while  Maury  read  the  service  over  the  body  and  con- 
signed it  to  the  deep  by  the  flames  of  the  dead  man's 
own  vessel.  What  noble,  tender,  manly  hearts  it 
shows,  those  rough  seamen  stopping  in  their  work  of 
destruction  to  perform  the  last  rites  over  their  dead 
enemy.  One  can  fancy  their  bare  heads  and  sun- 
burned faces  standing  in  solemn  silence  around  the 
poor  dead  man  when  he  dropped  into  his  immense 
grave.  God  bless  the  "pirates"! 


423 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Thursday  night,  December  31st,  1863. 
The  last  of  eighteen  sixty- three  is  passing  away  as 
I  write.  .  .  .  Every  New  Year  since  I  was  in  my 
teens,  I  have  sought  a  quiet  spot  where  I  could  whis- 
per to  myself  Tennyson's  "Death  of  the  Old  Year," 
and  even  this  bitter  cold  night  I  steal  into  my  freez- 
ing, fireless  little  room,  en  robe  de  nuit,  to  keep  up  my 
old  habit  while  the  others  sleep.  .  .  . 

"Old  year,  you  shall  not  die; 
We  did  so  laugh  and  cry  with  you, 
I  've  half  a  mind  to  die  with  you, 
Old  year,  if  you  must  die." 

No !  Go  and  welcome !  Bring  Peace  and  brighter 
days,  O  dawning  New  Year.  Die,  faster  and  faster, 
Old  One ;  I  count  your  remaining  moments  with  al- 
most savage  glee. 

Wednesday,  February  3d. 

Last  night  we  were  thrown  into  the  most  violent 
state  of  commotion  by  the  unexpected  entrance  of 
Captain  Bradford.  He  has  been  brought  here  a 
prisoner,  from  Asphodel,  where  he  has  been  ever 
since  the  surrender  of  Port  Hudson,  and  taking 
advantage  of  his  tri-weekly  parole,  his  first  visit  was 
naturally  here,  as  he  has  no  other  friends. 

Poor  creature,  how  he  must  have  suffered!  The 
first  glance  at  his  altered  face  where  suffering  and 
passion  have  both  left  their  traces  unmistakably 
since  we  last  met,  and  the  mere  sight  of  his  poor  lame 
leg,  filled  my  heart  with  compassion. 


424 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

How  he  hates  Mr.  Halsey !  I  could  not  forego  the 
pleasure  of  provoking  him  into  a  discussion  about 
him,  knowing  how  they  hated  each  other.  He  would 
not  say  anything  against  him;  understand,  that  as  a 
gentleman  and  a  companion,  Mr.  Halsey  was  his 
warmest  and  best  friend;  there  was  no  one  he  ad- 
mired more;  but  he  must  say  that  as  a  soldier,  he 
was  the  worst  he  had  ever  seen  —  not  that  he  was 
not  as  brave  and  gallant  a  man  as  ever  lived,  but  he 
neglected  his  duties  most  shamefully  while  visiting 
Linwood  so  constantly,  eluding  the  sentinels  daily  as 
he  asked  for  neither  pass  nor  permission,  and  con- 
sulting only  his  inclinations  instead  of  his  superior 
officers  or  his  business.  And  that  last  night  at  Lin- 
wood, when  he  absented  himself  without  leave,  why 
could  he  not  have  signified  to  him,  his  Captain,  that 
he  wished  to  say  good-bye,  instead  of  quietly  doing 
as  he  pleased?  When  the  Colonel  sent  for  a  report  of 
the  number  of  men,  quantity  of  forage  and  ammuni- 
tion, etc.,  and  it  was  discovered  that  John  Halsey 
was  absent  without  leave,  with  the  books  locked  up 
and  the  keys  in  his  pocket  —  even  after  this  lapse  of 
time,  the  fire  flashed  through  the  ice  as  the  Captain 
spoke.  Sergeant  Halsey,  I  am  sorry  for  you  when 
you  reported  yourself  next  day!  All  the  fun  that 
could  have  been  crowded  into  an  evening  at  Linwood 
could  not  have  repaid  you  for  the  morning's  scene. 
And  after  all,  what  was  it  beyond  very  empty  pleas- 
ure, with  a  great  deal  of  laughter?  He  could  have 
dispensed  with  it  just  as  well.    Looking  back,  I  con- 

425 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

gratulate  myself  on  being  the  only  one  who  did  not 
ask  him  to  stay. 

5th. 

Not  dead!  not  dead!  O  my  God!  Gibbes  is  not 
dead!  Where  —  O  dear  God!  Another? 

Only  a  few  days  ago  came  a  letter  so  cheerful  and 
hopeful  — we  have  waited  and  prayed  so  patiently 
—  at  my  feet  lies  one  from  Colonel  Steadman  saying 
he  is  dead.  Dead!  Suddenly  and  without  a  moment's 
warning  summoned  to  God !  No !  it  cannot  be !  I  am 
mad!  O  God,  have  mercy  on  us!  My  poor  mother! 
And  Lydia!  Lydia!  God  comfort  you!  My  brain 
seems  afire.  Am  I  mad?  Not  yet!  God  would  not 
take  him  yet!  He  will  come  again!  Hush,  God  is 
good!  Not  dead !  not  dead ! 

O  Gibbes,  come  back  to  us! 

nth. 
O   God,  O  God,  have  mercy  on   us!   George  is 
dead !  Both  in  a  week.  George,  our  sole  hope  —  our 
sole  dependence. 

March. 
Dead!  Dead!  Both  dead!  O  my  brothers!  What 
have  we  lived  for  except  you?  We,  who  would  have 
so  gladly  laid  down  our  lives  for  yours,  are  left 
desolate  to  mourn  over  all  we  loved  and  hoped  for, 
weak  and  helpless;  while  you,  so  strong,  noble, 
and  brave,  have  gone  before  us  without  a  murmur. 

426 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

God  knows  best.  But  it  is  hard  —  O  so  hard !  to  give 
them  up.  .  .  . 

If  we  had  had  any  warning  or  preparation,  this 
would  not  have  been  so  unspeakably  awful.  But  to 
shut  one's  eyes  to  all  dangers  and  risks,  and  drown 
every  rising  fear  with  "God  will  send  them  back;  I 
will  not  doubt  His  mercy,"  and  then  suddenly  to 
learn  that  your  faith  has  been  presumption  —  and 
God  wills  that  you  shall  undergo  bitter  affliction  —  it 
is  a  fearful  awakening!  What  glory  have  we  ever 
rendered  to  God  that  we  should  expect  him  to  be 
so  merciful  to  us?  Are  not  all  things  His,  and  is  not 
He  infinitely  more  tender  and  compassionate  than 
we  deserve? 

We  have  deceived  ourselves  wilfully  about  both. 
After  the  first  dismay  on  hearing  of  Gibbes's  cap- 
ture, we  readily  listened  to  the  assertions  of  our 
friends  that  Johnson's  Island  was  the  healthiest  place 
in  the  world ;  that  he  would  be  better  off,  comfort- 
ably clothed  and  under  shelter,  than  exposed  to  shot 
and  shell,  half  fed,  and  lying  on  the  bare  ground 
during  Ewell's  winter  campaign.  We  were  thankful 
for  his  safety,  knowing  Brother  would  leave  nothing 
undone  that  could  add  to  his  comfort.  And  besides 
that,  there  was  the  sure  hope  of  his  having  him 
paroled.  On  that  hope  we  lived  all  winter  —  now 
confident  that  in  a  little  while  he  would  be  with  us, 
then  again  doubting  for  a  while,  only  to  have  the 
hope  grow  surer  afterwards.  And  so  we  waited  and 
prayed,  never  doubting  he  would  come  at  last.   He 

427 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

himself  believed  it,  though  striving  not  to  be  too 
hopeful  lest  he  should  disappoint  us,  as  well  as  him- 
self. Yet  he  wrote  cheerfully  and  bravely  to  the  last. 
Towards  the  middle  of  January,  Brother  was  sure 
of  succeeding,  as  all  the  prisoners  had  been  placed 
under  Butler's  control.  Ah  me!  How  could  we  be 
so  blind?  We  were  sure  he  would  be  with  us  in  a 
few  weeks!  I  wrote  to  him  that  I  had  prepared 
his  room. 

On  the  30th  of  January  came  his  last  letter,  ad- 
dressed to  me,  though  meant  for  Lavinia.  It  was 
dated  the  12th  —  the  day  George  died.  All  his  let- 
ters pleaded  that  I  would  write  more  frequently  — 
he  loved  to  hear  from  me;  so  I  had  been  writing  to 
him  every  ten  days.  On  the  3d  of  February  I  sent 
my  last.  Friday  the  5th,  as  I  was  running  through 
Miriam's  room,  I  saw  Brother  pass  the  door,  and 
heard  him  ask  Miriam  for  mother.  The  voice,  the 
bowed  head,  the  look  of  utter  despair  on  his  face, 
struck  through  me  like  a  knife.  "Gibbes!  Gibbes!" 
was  my  sole  thought;  but  Miriam  and  I  stood  mo- 
tionless looking  at  each  other  without  a  word. 
"Gibbes  is  dead,"  said  mother  as  he  stood  before  her. 
He  did  not  speak;  and  then  we  went  in. 

We  did  not  ask  how,  or  when.  That  he  was  dead 
was  enough  for  us.  But  after  a  while  he  told  us  Uncle 
James  had  written  that  he  had  died  at  two  o'clock 
on  Thursday  the  21st.  Still  we  did  not  know  how  he 
had  died.  Several  letters  that  had  been  brought  re- 
mained unopened  on  the  floor.  One,  Brother  opened, 

428 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

hoping  to  learn  something  more.  It  was  from  Colonel 
Steadman  to  Miriam  and  me,  written  a  few  hours 
after  his  death,  and  contained  the  sad  story  of  our 
dear  brother's  last  hours. 

He  had  been  in  Colonel  Steadman 's  ward  of  the 
hospital  for  more  than  a  week,  with  headache  and 
sore  throat,  but  it  was  thought  nothing;  he  seemed 
to  improve,  and  expected  to  be  discharged  in  a  few 
days.  On  the  21st  he  complained  that  his  throat 
pained  him  again.  After  prescribing  for  him,  and 
talking  cheerfully  with  him  for  some  time,  Colonel 
Steadman  left  him  surrounded  by  his  friends,  to 
attend  to  his  other  patients.  He  had  hardly  reached 
his  room  when  some  one  ran  to  him  saying  Captain 
Morgan  was  dying.  He  hurried  to  his  bedside,  and 
found  him  dead.  Captain  Steadman,  sick  in  the  next 
bed,  and  those  around  him,  said  he  had  been  talking 
pleasantly  with  them,  when  he  sat  up  to  reach  his 
cup  of  water  on  the  table.  As  soon  as  he  drank  it  he 
seemed  to  suffocate;  and  after  tossing  his  arms 
wildly  in  the  air,  and  making  several  fearful  efforts 
to  breathe,  he  died. 

"Hush,  mother,  hush,"  I  said  when  I  heard  her 
cries.  "We  have  Brother  and  George  and  Jimmy 
left,  and  Lydia  has  lost  all ! "  Heaven  pity  us !  George 
had  gone  before  —  only  He  in  mercy  kept  the  knowl- 
edge of  it  from  us  for  a  while  longer. 

On  Thursday  the  nth,  as  we  sat  talking  to 
mother,  striving  to  make  her  forget  the  weary  days 

429 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

we  had  cried  through  with  that  fearful  sound  of 
"Dead!  Dead!"  ringing  ever  in  our  ears,  some  one 
asked  for  Miriam.  She  went  down,  and  presently  I 
heard  her  thanking  somebody  for  a  letter.  ' '  You  could 
not  have  brought  me  anything  more  acceptable!  It 
is  from  my  sister,  though  she  can  hardly  have  heard 
from  us  yet!"  I  ran  back,  and  sitting  at  mother's 
feet,  told  her  Miriam  was  coming  with  a  letter  from 
Lydia.  Mother  cried  at  the  mention  of  her  name.  O 
my  little  sister !  You  know  how  dear  you  are  to  us ! 
"Mother!  Mother!"  a  horrible  voice  cried,  and  be- 
fore I  could  think  who  it  was,  Miriam  rushed  in, 
holding  an  open  letter  in  her  hand,  and  perfectly 
wild.  ' '  George  is  dead ! "  she  shrieked,  and  fell  heavily 
to  the  ground. 

O  my  God!  I  could  have  prayed  Thee  to  take 
mother,  too,  when  I  looked  at  her.  I  thought  —  I 
almost  hoped  she  was  dead,  and  that  pang  spared ! 
But  I  was  wild  myself.  I  could  have  screamed !  — 
laughed!  "It  is  false!  Do  you  hear  me,  mother? 
God  would  not  take  both!  George  is  not  dead!"  I 
cried,  trying  in  vain  to  arouse  her  from  her  horrible 
state  or  bring  one  ray  of  reason  to  her  eye.  I  spoke  to 
a  body  alive  only  to  pain ;  not  a  sound  of  my  voice 
seemed  to  reach  her;  only  fearful  moans  showed  she 
was  yet  alive. 

Miriam  lay  raving  on  the  ground.  Poor  Miriam! 
her  heart's  idol  torn  away.  God  help  my  darling!  I 
did  not  understand  that  George  could  die  until  I 
looked  at  her.   In  vain  I  strove  to  raise  her  from  the 

430 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

ground,  or  check  her  wild  shrieks  for  death.  "George ! 
only  George!"  she  would  cry;  until  at  last,  with  the 
horror  of  seeing  both  die  before  me,  I  mastered 
strength  enough  to  go  for  the  servant  and  bid  her  run 
quickly  for  Brother. 

How  long  I  stood  there  alone,  I  never  knew.  I 
remember  Ada  coming  in  hurriedly  and  asking 
what  it  was.  I  told  her  George  was  dead.  It  was  a 
relief  to  see  her  cry.  I  could  not;  but  I  felt  the  pain 
afresh,  as  though  it  were  her  brother  she  was  cry- 
ing over,  not  mine.  And  the  sight  of  her  tears 
brought  mine,  too.  We  could  only  cry  over  mother 
and  Miriam ;  we  could  not  rouse  them ;  we  did  not 
know  what  to  do. 

Some  one  called  me  in  the  entry.  I  went,  not 
understanding  what  I  was  doing.  A  lady  came  to  me, 
told  me  her  name,  and  said  something  about  George; 
but  I  could  not  follow  what  she  said.  It  was  as  though 
she  was  talking  in  a  dream.  I  believe  she  repeated 
the  words  several  times,  for  at  last  she  shook  me  and 
said,  "Listen!  Rouse  yourself!  the  letter  is  about 
George!"  Yes,  I  said;  he  is  dead.  She  said  I  must 
read  the  letter;  but  I  could  not  see,  so  she  read  it 
aloud.  It  was  from  Dr.  Mitchell,  his  friend  who  was 
with  him  when  he  died,  telling  of  his  sickness  and 
death.  He  died  on  Tuesday  the  12th  of  January, 
after  an  illness  of  six  days,  conscious  to  the  last  and 
awaiting  the  end  as  only  a  Christian,  and  one  who 
has  led  so  beautiful  a  life,  could,  with  the  Grace  of 
God,  look  for  it.   He  sent  messages  to  his  brothers 

43i 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

and  sisters,  and  bade  them  tell  his  mother  his  last 
thoughts  were  of  her,  and  that  he  died  trusting  in 
the  mercy  of  the  Saviour.  George!  our  pride!  our 
beautiful,  angel  brother!  Could  he  die?  Surely  God 
has  sent  all  these  afflictions  within  these  three  years 
to  teach  us  that  our  hopes  must  be  placed  Above, 
and  that  it  is  blasphemy  to  have  earthly  idols ! 

The  letter  said  that  the  physicians  had  mistaken 
his  malady,  which  was  inflammation  of  the  bowels, 
and  he  had  died  from  being  treated  for  something 
else.  It  seemed  horrible  cruelty  to  read  me  that 
part ;  I  knew  that  if  mother  or  Miriam  ever  heard  of 
it,  it  would  kill  them.  So  I  begged  Mrs.  Mitchell 
never  to  let  them  hear  of  it.  She  seemed  to  think 
nothing  of  the  pain  it  would  inflict;  how  could  she 
help  telling  if  they  asked?  she  said.  I  told  her  I  must 
insist  on  her  not  mentioning  it;  it  would  only  add 
suffering  to  what  was  already  insupportable ;  if  they 
asked  for  the  letter,  offer  to  read  it  aloud,  but  say 
positively  that  she  would  not  allow  any  one  to  touch 
it  except  herself,  and  then  she  might  pass  it  over  in 
silence.  I  roused  Miriam  then  and  sent  her  to  hear  it 
read.  She  insisted  on  reading  it  herself,  and  half 
dead  with  grief  held  out  her  hands,  begging  piteously 
to  be  suffered  to  read  it  alone.  I  watched  then  until 
I  was  sure  Mrs.  Mitchell  would  keep  her  promise. 
Horrible  as  I  knew  it  to  be  from  strange  lips,  I  knew 
by  what  I  experienced  that  I  had  saved  her  from  a 
shock  that  might  cost  her  her  life;  and  then  I  went 
back  to  mother. 

432 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

No  need  to  conceal  what  I  felt  there !  She  neither 
spoke  nor  saw.  If  I  had  shrieked  that  he  died  of  ill 
treatment,  she  would  not  have  understood.  But  I 
sat  there  silently  with  that  horrible  secret,  wondering 
if  God  would  help  me  bear  it,  or  if  despair  would 
deprive  me  of  self-control  and  force  me  presently  to 
cry  it  aloud,  though  it  should  kill  them  both. 

At  last  Brother  came.  I  had  to  meet  him  down- 
stairs and  tell  him.  God  spare  me  the  sight  of  a 
strong  man's  grief!  Then  Sister  came  in,  knowing 
as  little  as  he.  Poor  Sister!  I  could  have  blessed  her 
for  every  tear  she  shed.  It  was  a  comfort  to  see  some 
one  who  had  life  or  feeling  left.  I  felt  as  though  the 
whole  world  was  dead.  Nothing  was  real,  nothing 
existed  except  horrible  speechless  pain.  Life  was  a 
fearful  dream  through  which  but  one  thought  ran  — 
"Dead  — Dead!" 

Miriam  had  been  taken  to  her  room  more  dead 
than  alive  —  Mother  lay  speechless  in  hers.  The 
shock  of  this  second  blow  had  obliterated,  with  them, 
all  recollection  of  the  first.  It  was  a  mercy  I  envied 
them;  for  I  remembered  both,  until  loss  of  con- 
sciousness would  have  seemed  a  blessing.  I  shall 
never  forget  mother's  shriek  of  horror  when  towards 
evening  she  recalled  it.  O  those  dreadful  days  of 
misery  and  wretchedness!  It  seems  almost  sacrilege 
to  refer  to  them  now.  They  are  buried  in  our  hearts 
with  our  boys  —  thought  of  with  prayers  and  tears. 

How  will  the  world  seem  to  us  now?  What  will  life 
be  without  the  boys?    When  this  terrible  strife  is 

433 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

over,  and  so  many  thousands  return  to  their  homes, 
what  will  peace  bring  us  of  all  we  hoped?  Jimmy! 
Dear  Lord,  spare  us  that  one! 

November  2d,  1864. 

This  morning  we  heard  Jimmy  is  engaged  to  Helen 
Trenholm,  daughter  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Confed- 
erate States.  He  wrote  asking  Brother's  consent, 
saying  they  had  been  engaged  since  August,  though 
he  had  had  no  opportunity  of  writing  until  that  day 
—  the  middle  of  September.  I  cried  myself  blind.  It 
seems  that  our  last  one  is  gone.  But  this  is  the  first 
selfish  burst  of  feeling.  Later  I  shall  come  to  my 
senses  and  love  my  sister  that  is  to  be.  But  my  dar- 
ling! my  darling!  O  Jimmy!  How  can  I  give  you 
up?  You  have  been  so  close  to  me  since  Harry  died! 

Alone  now;  best  so. 

No.  19  Dauphine  St., 
Saturday  night,  December  31st,  1864. 

One  year  ago,  in  my  little  room  in  the  Camp  Street 
house,  I  sat  shivering  over  Tennyson  and  my  desk, 
selfishly  rejoicing  over  the  departure  of  a  year  that 
had  brought  pain  and  discomfort  only  to  me,  and 
eagerly  welcoming  the  dawning  of  the  New  One 
whose  first  days  were  to  bring  death  to  George  and 
Gibbes,  and  whose  latter  part  was  to  separate  me 
from  Miriam,  and  brings  me  news  of  Jimmy's 
approaching  marriage.  0  sad,  dreary,  fearful  Old 
Year!   I  see  you  go  with  pain!    Bitter  as  you  have 

434 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

been,  how  do  we  know  what  the  coming  one  has  in 
store  for  us?  What  new  changes  will  it  bring?  Which 
of  us  will  it  take?  I  am  afraid  of  eighteen  sixty-five, 
and  have  felt  a  vague  dread  of  it  for  several  years  past. 
Nothing  remains  as  it  was  a  few  months  ago. 
Miriam  went  to  Lilly,  in  the  Confederacy,  on  the 
19th  of  October  (ah!  Miriam!),  and  mother  and  I 
have  been  boarding  with  Mrs.  Postlethwaite  ever 
since.  I  miss  her  sadly.  Not  as  much,  though,  as  I 
would  were  I  less  engaged.  For  since  the  first  week 
in  August,  I  have  been  teaching  the  children  for 
Sister;  and  since  we  have  been  here,  I  go  to  them 
every  morning  instead  of  their  coming  to  me.  Start- 
ing out  at  half-past  eight  daily,  and  returning  a  little 
before  three,  does  not  leave  me  much  time  for  melan- 
choly reflections.  And  there  is  no  necessity  for 
indulging  in  them  at  present;  they  only  give  pain. 

No.  211  Camp  St., 
April  19th,  1865. 

"All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become  por- 
tions and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  pasts."  .  .  . 

Thursday  the  13th  came  the  dreadful  tidings  of  the 
surrender  of  Lee  and  his  army  on  the  9th.  Every- 
body cried,  but  I  would  not,  satisfied  that  God  will 
still  save  us,  even  though  all  should  apparently  be 
lost.  Followed  at  intervals  of  two  or  three  hours 
by  the  announcement  of  the  capture  of  Richmond, 
Selma,  Mobile,  and  Johnston's  army,  even  the  stanch- 
est  Southerners  were  hopeless.  Every  one  proclaimed 

435 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

Peace,  and  the  only  matter  under  consideration  was 
whether  Jeff  Davis,  all  politicians,  every  man  above 
the  rank  of  Captain  in  the  army  and  above  that  of 
Lieutenant  in  the  navy,  should  be  hanged  imme- 
diately, or  some  graciously  pardoned.  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  humanely  pleaded  mercy  for  us,  supported 
by  a  small  minority.  Davis  and  all  leading  men  must 
be  executed ;  the  blood  of  the  others  would  serve  to 
irrigate  the  country.  Under  this  lively  prospect, 
Peace,  blessed  Peace!  was  the  cry.  I  whispered, 
14  Never !  Let  a  great  earthquake  swallow  us  up  first ! 
Let  us  leave  our  land  and  emigrate  to  any  desert 
spot  of  the  earth,  rather  than  return  to  the  Union, 
even  as  it  Was!" 

Six  days  this  has  lasted.  Blessed  with  the 
silently  obstinate  disposition,  I  would  not  dispute, 
but  felt  my  heart  swell,  repeating,  "  God  is  our  refuge 
and  our  strength,  a  very  present  help  in  time  of 
trouble,"  and  could  not  for  an  instant  believe  this 
could  end  in  an  overthrow. 

This  morning,  when  I  went  down  to  breakfast  at 
seven,  Brother  read  the  announcement  of  the  assas- 
sination of  Lincoln  and  Secretary  Seward. 

"Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord." 
This  is  murder!  God  have  mercy  on  those  who 
did  it! 

Charlotte  Corday  killed  Marat  in  his  bath,  and  is 
held  up  in  history  as  one  of  Liberty's  martyrs,  and 
one  of  the  heroines  of  her  country.   To  me,  it  is  all 

436 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

murder.  Let  historians  extol  blood-shedding;  it  is 
woman's  place  to  abhor  it.  And  because  I  know  that 
they  would  have  apotheosized  any  man  who  had 
crucified  Jeff  Davis,  I  abhor  this,  and  call  it  foul  mur- 
der, unworthy  of  our  cause  —  and  God  grant  it  was 
only  the  temporary  insanity  of  a  desperate  man  that 
committed  this  crime!  Let  not  his  blood  be  visited 
on  our  nation,  Lord! 

Across  the  way,  a  large  building,  undoubtedly 
inhabited  by  officers,  is  being  draped  in  black.  Im- 
mense streamers  of  black  and  white  hang  from  the 
balcony.  Downtown,  I  understand,  all  shops  are 
closed,  and  all  wrapped  in  mourning.  And  I  hardly 
dare  pray  God  to  bless  us,  with  the  crape  hanging 
over  the  way.  It  would  have  been  banners,  if  our 
President  had  been  killed,  though ! 

Saturday,  22d  April. 
To  see  a  whole  city  draped  in  mourning  is  certainly 
an  imposing  spectacle,  and  becomes  almost  grand 
when  it  is  considered  as  an  expression  of  universal 
affliction.  So  it  is,  in  one  sense.  For  the  more  vio- 
lently "Secesh  "  the  inmates,  the  more  thankful  they 
are  for  Lincoln's  death,  the  more  profusely  the  houses 
are  decked  with  the  emblems  of  woe.  They  all  look 
to  me  like  "not  sorry  for  him,  but  dreadfully  grieved 
to  be  forced  to  this  demonstration."  So  all  things 
have  indeed  assumed  a  funereal  aspect.  Men  who 
have  hated  Lincoln  with  all  their  souls,  under  terror 
of  confiscation  and  imprisonment  which  they  under- 

437 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

stand  is  the  alternative,  tie  black  crape  from  every 
practicable  knob  and  point  to  save  their  homes.  Last 

evening  the  B s  were  all  in  tears,  preparing  their 

mourning.  What  sensibility!  What  patriotism!  a 
stranger  would  have  exclaimed.  But  Bella's  first 
remark  was:  "Is  it  not  horrible?  This  vile,  vile  old 
crape!  Think  of  hanging  it  out  when  —  "  Tears  of 
rage  finished  the  sentence.  One  would  have  thought 
pity  for  the  murdered  man  had  very  little  to  do  with 
it. 

Coming  back  in  the  cars,  I  had  a  rencontre  that 
makes  me  gnash  my  teeth  yet.  It  was  after  dark, 
and  I  was  the  only  lady  in  a  car  crowded  with  gentle- 
men. I  placed  little  Miriam  on  my  lap  to  make  room 
for  some  of  them,  when  a  great,  dark  man,  all  in 
black,  entered,  and  took  the  seat  and  my  left  hand 
at  the  same  instant,  saying,  "Good-evening,  Miss 
Sarah."  Frightened  beyond  measure  to  recognize 
Captain  Todd1  of  the  Yankee  army  in  my  interlocu- 
tor, I,  however,  preserved  a  quiet  exterior,  and  with- 
out the  slightest  demonstration  answered,  as  though 
replying  to  an  internal  question.  "Mr.  Todd."  "It 
is  a  long  while  since  we  met,"  he  ventured.  "Four 
years,"  I  returned  mechanically.  "You  have  been 
well?"  "My  health  has  been  bad."  "I  have  been 
ill  myself";  and  determined  to  break  the  ice  he 
diverged  with  "Baton  Rouge  has  changed  sadly." 
"  I  hope  I  shall  never  see  it  again.  We  have  suffered 
too  much  to  recall  home  with  any  pleasure."    "I 

1  A  cousin  of  Mrs.  Lincoln. 
438 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

understand  you  have  suffered  severely,"  he  said, 
glancing  at  my  black  dress.  "We  have  yet  one  left 
in  the  army,  though,"  I  could  not  help  saying.  He, 
too,  had  a  brother  there,  he  said. 

He  pulled  the  check-string  as  we  reached  the 
house,  adding,  "This  is  it,"  and  absurdly  correcting 
himself  with  "Where  do  you  live?"  —  "211.  I  thank 
you.  Good-evening";  the  last  with  emphasis  as  he 
prepared  to  follow.  He  returned  the  salutation,  and  I 
hurriedly  regained  the  house.  Monsieur  stood  over 
the  way.  A  look  through  the  blinds  showed  him 
returning  to  his  domicile,  several  doors  below. 

I  returned  to  my  own  painful  reflections.  The  Mr. 
Todd  who  was  my  "sweetheart"  when  I  was  twelve 
and  he  twenty-four,  who  was  my  brother's  friend, 
and  daily  at  our  home,  was  put  away  from  among  our 
acquaintance  at  the  beginning  of  the  war.  This  one, 
I  should  not  know.  Cords  of  candy  and  mountains 
of  bouquets  bestowed  in  childish  days  will  not  make 
my  country's  enemy  my  friend  now  that  I  am  a 
woman. 

Tuesday,  May  2d,  1865. 
While  praying  for  the  return  of  those  who  have 
fought  so  nobly  for  us,  how  I  have  dreaded  their 
first  days  at  home!  Since  the  boys  died,  I  have  con- 
stantly thought  of  what  pain  it  would  bring  to  see 
their  comrades  return  without  them  —  to  see  families 
reunited,  and  know  that  ours  never  could  be  again, 
save  in  heaven.    Last  Saturday,  the  29th  of  April, 

439 


A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary 

seven  hundred  and  fifty  paroled  Louisianians  from 
Lee's  army  were  brought  here  —  the  sole  survivors 
of  ten  regiments  who  left  four  years  ago  so  full  of 
hope  and  determination.  On  the  29th  of  April,  1861, 
George  left  New  Orleans  with  his  regiment.  On  the 
fourth  anniversary  of  that  day,  they  came  back;  but 
George  and  Gibbes  have  long  been  lying  in  their 
graves.  .  .  . 

June  15th. 
Our  Confederacy  has  gone  with  one  crash  —  the 
report  of  the  pistol  fired  at  Lincoln. 


THE   END 


Reading  this  for  the  first  time,  in  all  these  many 
years,  I  wish  to  bear  record  that  God  never  failed  me, 
through  stranger  vicissitudes  than  I  ever  dared  re- 
cord. Whatever  the  anguish,  whatever  the  extrem- 
ity, in  His  own  good  time  He  ever  delivered  me.  So 
that  I  bless  Him  to-day  for  all  of  life's  joys  and  sor- 
rows —  for  all  He  gave  —  for  all  He  has  taken  — 
and  I  bear  witness  that  it  was  all  Very  Good. 

Sarah  Morgan  Dawson. 

July  23d,  1896. 
Charleston, 
South  Carolina. 


(3ItiE  ttilirtpiOe  prcjfjg 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S    .   A 


T  CHAPEL  Hi 


* 10002353162* 


